


Aziraphale's Legion

by NotASpaceAlien



Series: Your Own Side [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, So many OCs...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-30 03:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: The empty throne left by Satan’s untimely death has Hell in chaos.  Aziraphale’s actions may have drawn him some rather unwanted attention from legions of the devil’s former followers, potential successors, and a newly fallen archdemon on the prowl for revenge.  (Direct sequel to “In Sickness” and “The Coming Events”)





	1. Fortifications

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158089025010/aziraphales-legion-part-1-fortifications

It is very rare for an angel who did not side with Satan in the rebellion to fall, but it does happen occasionally.  Very occasionally. 

God does not cast angels out anymore unless he is in a particularly unpleasant mood, but the archangels take it upon themselves to see to it when the need arises.  And in a time of crisis, when things get really bad, if all six are united against the seventh, an archangel may fall.

Rare.  But it can happen.

“Damn it,” said Victoria, slamming Camael’s desk drawer shut.  “ _Where_ would he have put them?”

The angel that had been Camael’s personal assistant was standing at the far end of the room, looking chastised and feeling useless.  “I don’t know.  I’m sorry.”

She sighed.  “I’m not blaming you.  I’m sorry.”

She left the hapless angel standing there and moved out into the hall, resentment growing inside her. Leave it to Heaven to thrust most of her former boss’s duties onto her without giving her his position or promoting her at all.   _Just dump all of the archangel’s responsibilities onto his power and leave the archangel position empty, I’m sure she can handle it, nothing will go wrong at all…_

They were dragging their feet on choosing his replacement for some reason.  And they hadn’t even let her have Camael’s assistant to help her. He had gone to Gabriel instead. She let herself think a few dissent-laden thoughts, knowing she wouldn’t be punished for it.

“Gabriel!” she shouted, making a bee-line through the courtyard.  “Gabriel, I need to-”

“ _Victoria!_ ” came a sudden, urgent shout, and she turned to see the angel Rosia running towards her at full speed, waving her arms manically. “Victoria, we need you at the front gate!”

“What, _Heaven’s_ gate?” said Victoria.  “Are we under attack?”

“I don’t know,” said Rosia, her hands on her knees, panting.  “They told me to run and find the first warrior angel I could.”

“Keep running until you find Michael.  I’ll see what’s going on.”

The lesser angel fled while Victoria spread her wings and zoomed to Heaven’s entrance.

Victoria thought of what had happened a while back when Heaven’s own infernal double agent had stood close to the gate.  He had almost gone into shock.   She hadn’t seen it herself, but she had been told about it.  If that was what happened when a demon got close, there was no way Hell’s forces could carry out an assault on Heaven directly.  No, never in a million years.  There was no way…right?

The gates came into view, massive, looming metal bars laced with powerful ethereal iconography and—contrary to common conception—golden brass, not pearly.  With a whorl of wings, she leapt over them and landed lightly on the outside, finding four or five lesser angels already aggregating in front of the gate.

“What’s—” she began, but fell silent when she saw it: a milky white portal about a dozen meters away, swirling silently.  “What is _that?_ ”

“We don’t know,” said one of the angels nervously.  “It just appeared.  Nothing’s come out of it yet.”

There was suddenly an enormous _bang!_ from the other side of the portal, but it was muffled.

Victoria dropped into a defensive crouch, materializing a bow and arrow.  She nocked one and pointed it at the portal.  “Well, get ready for something to.” 

A few of the other angels produced similar long-range weapons, while the remaining armed themselves with swords.

Faint voices could be heard through the portal, clearly shouting but suppressed as though being heard from the next room.

Victoria’s hands were starting to sweat on her arrow.  She really was more comfortable with her sword.  “Show yourself!”

Another _bang!_  The angel beside her flinched.

Finally, something appeared from the portal: a figure dressed in black, dragging another body with an arm over his shoulder, both of them covered in blood.

“Oh my god,” said Victoria, dropping her weapon and rushing forwards.  The portal closed behind them, and the figure in black collapsed as soon as both feet were through, the second person falling beside him.

“Help,” said a voice, and Victoria recognized it as the demon Crowley. 

Victoria indulged in a curse as she knelt down.  Aziraphale was unconscious and disgorging blood at an alarming rate, and as she reached him the other angels were already lifting him up and taking him back towards the gate.

“Get him to the healing ward,” said Victoria.  The damage to his body had been wrought with an infernal weapon, and she didn’t like the look of it at all.

She turned back down to look at Crowley, but as she did so the angel beside her raised his sword.

“Vile creature—”

Victoria hit his hand with the pommel of her own blade so hard she could hear a bone crack, smacking the sword out of his hand.  “What are you doing, you stupid fuck?”

“This demon has the audacity to-”

“Go get Raphael.  Or another very skilled healer.   _Now._ ”

The angel grit his teeth in pain and scurried off without further complaint.

Victoria knelt down and materialized a rag to press into Crowley’s wounds, trying to stop the blood flow, feeling it saturate immediately.  “I’ve got you.”

Crowley looked past her and raised an arm feebly.

“Don’t worry about Aziraphale.  They’ll take care of him.”

A few words dropped incoherently out of his mouth.  His eyes slid shut, and his head lolled.

“ _Shit,_ ” said Victoria.  “Crowley, stay with me.”

His entire body had gone limp.  She looked at how close they were to the gate.  Then, she scooped him up and opened a portal to Earth with her sword, stepping through it and plummeting towards the ground. 

* * *

Heaven’s hospitals are not like human hospitals; there are fewer machines, and much more healing that uses water.  And the same heavy aura that blankets Heaven and makes it dangerous for demons is comforting for angels, so the very air itself helps.

Aziraphale drifted awake to the sound of a fountain, and when he opened his eyes he immediately shut them again against the brightness.

Yup, definitely in Heaven.

He lay there for a moment before levering himself upright, suddenly worried about Crowley.  Surely they hadn’t brought him inside…?

A low-level healer knocked on the door, then cracked it open to step through.  “Good mo—”

“Where’s Crowley?”

The healer looked perturbed. “Who?”

“I would have come in with him.”

“You were brought in by yourself.”

“ _No,_ ” said Aziraphale.  He was making no attempt to hide his anger, because last time he had left Crowley alone while he went into Heaven by himself, the demon hadn’t been there when he came back out.  “I want to talk to someone who knows where Crowley is.   _Now._ ”

The healer scuttled off, slamming the door behind him.  Aziraphale knew he had been rude, but his whole body ached and he was already out of patience.

He drew the covers around himself down to see bandages all over his body.  They had done a very thorough job.  He suspected the healers in Heaven might have been bored since the only injuries ever happened on Earth, so they would jump at the chance to put their skills to use.  He had probably been a first-class patient while he was unconscious. 

He struggled to remember how he had gotten here.  They had been on Earth, and….

Oh.  That’s right.  Crowley’s quick thinking in opening that portal had been the only thing to get them out of the shop alive, but Aziraphale had no idea he had been getting them _out_ to Heaven, of all places. It made perfect sense, but it was still bold.  And he was concerned whoever had brought Aziraphale in wouldn’t have recognized Crowley, and there was no telling what might have happened.

He stewed in his anxiety until he saw a familiar face at the door.  It was a power.

“Victoria!” he said as she came in.

“Aziraphale, it’s good to see you’ve recovered.  You looked pretty bad.”

“Thank you.  Where’s Crowley?”

“He’s on Earth,” said Victoria.  “He’s with Raphael.”

Aziraphale let out a breath of relief.  “Is he all right?”

“He was still conscious when we found him, so he’s starting off a bit better than you, at least.  And Heaven’s best healer is attending to him, so he should be fine.”

“Oh, good,” said Aziraphale, now embarrassed he had displayed such emotion.

Victoria took a seat next to his bed.  “Aziraphale, what happened?  Who did this to you?”

Aziraphale’s face darkened. “It was an archdemon.”

“Did you recognize which one?”

Aziraphale sat in silence for a moment, the fountain still babbling.

“Victoria, no one told me Camael had fallen.”

Victoria sighed, and leaned to put her face in her hands.  “I was afraid that’s who it was.  His name is Kabata now.”

“What happened?”

“The other archangels called a tribunal and decided unanimously that he should fall.”

“Because of what he did to Crowley?” said Aziraphale.  He could see Michael being angry enough about it to do something like that, but he had a hard time imagining the others would care enough about a demon to cast out one of their own.  Especially Uriel and Metatron.

“Maybe.  That’s….  not something for me to speculate on,” said Victoria.

“What?” said Aziraphale. “What do you mean?  You don’t know why Camael fell?  What would it be, if not for falsely promising asylum to a demon? That has to be what it was, right?”

“Look, that doesn’t matter,” said Victoria.  “We don’t need to know the details.  They were trying to keep it quiet.  Heaven is still trying to start the war with Hell, and if word got out that one of our military leaders had fallen, it would be disastrous.”

Reading between the lines: Heaven, once again, refused to acknowledge it had made a mistake, and instead swept the evidence under the rug. Aziraphale rubbed his temples, trying not to let his frustration loose on Victoria.  “But everyone is going to find out eventually, Victoria.  A new archdemon running around isn’t exactly something people don’t notice.”

“It’s not my decision,” said Victoria stiffly.  “And it’s not yours either, Aziraphale.  Know your place.”

He looked at her tiredly, too fed up to be offended.  He sighed and said, “I didn’t think the war could go on without the Adversary.”

“I don’t think it can, either.  But they’re still trying.  They’re nothing if not persistent.”

 _Annoying_ , thought Aziraphale, at this point more exasperated than afraid.  “I’d really like to get back to Earth as soon as possible.  Do you know how long they’ll keep me here?”

“I know you’re worried about him, but he’s with an archangel.”

“Dear girl, that’s precisely _why_ I’m worried about him.”

Victoria looked uncomfortable.  “He’ll be fine.  Kabata wouldn’t dare try anything with Raphael there, I’m sure.  Do you know why he attacked you?  Did you manage to injure him at all?”

“Revenge, I’d imagine,” said Aziraphale.  “It’s not hard to think of why he might hate us.  And as for the second question, no, unfortunately.  Unless you could count a small cut on the arm from my sword.”

“I’m afraid you might have made yourself a target by what you did to Satan, Aziraphale.  There are probably plenty of other archdemons who’d jump at the chance to avenge their master.”

Aziraphale picked at the hem of his blanket.  “Of course. It can never be easy, can it?”

“Afraid not.”

Silence for another few moments, except for the gurgling water.

“I can talk to someone about getting some warrior angels sent down to protect you.  But I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince them.  I know they’ll keep asking why you can’t just stay in Heaven where it’s safe if you’re such a target.  I don’t know how I can make them see.”

There was one reason why he couldn’t just stay in Heaven, and its name was Crowley.  “Thank you, Victoria.  See what you can do.  I think we should be all right.  I have lots of grimoires I can get anti-demon sigils out of.”

As Victoria rose to remove herself from the room, Aziraphale called out after her, “And ask them how long I have to stay here, will you?”

* * *

When Crowley drifted awake, it was the ceiling of the upstairs bedroom of the bookshop he saw. He struggled to remember how he had gotten here and blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the semidarkness of an unlit room with blinds drawn at midday. 

They had been in the bookshop before, which is where Crowley had hastily thrown together that spell to get them to Heaven….unless it hadn’t worked?  No, he remembered that damned—blessed—light, bright as Hell—Heaven. More precisely, he remembered the stabbing pain being in the place had caused him, distinct even on top of the wounds he had garnered from the archdemon’s weapon.

He felt bandages tight on his wounds, so obviously he was missing something between arriving in Heaven and now.  Just as well. He would hate to see what would happen if they had tried to bring him into the gates.

He slid out from under the duvet.  The motion caused a fresh wave of pain to surge through his body, and he stopped, hissing from between clenched teeth.  He started again, more slowly, and succeeded in levering himself into a standing position.

He padded forwards and cracked the door open.  The hallway was dim and empty.  He tiptoed out, taking the stairs slowly both because of the possibility of ambush and the pain moving was causing him.

The shop itself was empty. He turned towards the back room.

It was still a mess like they had left it, jars of spell ingredients and incense scattered and shattered everywhere, multiple volumes of spellbooks flopped open on the ground. The circle Crowley had drawn was still there, although it was smudged now by what looked a broken jar of frankincense.  The poor couch in the corner still bore the enormous tear where the archdemon’s weapon had torn into it, as well as the table—

There was someone standing by the table that Crowley hadn’t noticed, and noticing them startled him so much he stumbled backwards and landed directly on his arse.

The imposing figure by the table looked up from the volume he had in his hands and snapped it shut. “You’re awake!”

Crowley nodded, mute with apprehension and a shooting pain in his spine.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” said the other.  “But I’m sure you know who I am.  I’m Raphael.”

The archangel of healing. The _archangel_ part made Crowley’s instincts to run kick in, but the _of healing_ part engaged the logical centers of his brain that told him Raphael was the one who had saved his life.  If the archangel wanted to harm him, he could have done so already.  The two reactions fought into stalemate, and the fact that Crowley wasn’t sure he could stand was the tiebreaker.  He stayed on the floor.

Raphael slid the book back onto its shelf and, drawing his robes about himself, picked his way across the chaotic room towards him.  “You managed to put together such a complex spell while under attack?  I’m impressed.”  He knelt and held a hand out.

Crowley took it, relieved that he wouldn’t have to fight to get up by himself.  He felt Raphael’s hand on his back.  “Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself again.  Here.”

Raphael herded him onto the ruined couch and helped him stretch out facedown.  Crowley tried to stifle his noises of discomfort, embarrassed despite that he was sure Raphael had seen much worse.

He felt the touch of hands on his back, and heat flowing through him.  “You know,” said Raphael, “I’ve never treated a demon before for….obvious reasons.  I wasn’t sure I would be able to do it.  The process I would have used on an angel would have involved holy water, so I had to do some scrambling.”

Crowley suddenly felt his spine being popped back into place, accompanied by an unsetting _crick_.  He gasped. 

Raphael gave him a pat. “There, that should be better now.”

Crowley swung his feet around and stood experimentally.  He felt fine, except for a dull body-wide background ache that he suspected was the inevitable result of getting the shit kicked out of you.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Where is Aziraphale?”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s still in Heaven.”

“Oh.”

Raphael put a hand on his shoulder.  “They told me about what you did.”

“You mean with the circle?” said Crowley, bewildered.

“No, I mean about what you and Aziraphale did.  About how you switched sides.”

“Oh.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed.  “I want you to know I’m one-hundred percent on your side, Crowley.  Demon or not, you’re with _us_.  If anyone ever gives you trouble about it, you can come to me.  Okay?” 

Crowley had not expected such an outpouring of support from anyone, let alone an archangel, and didn’t know how to respond.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s get you back into bed.”

The stairs were easier going up, and Raphael supported him by the elbow even though he wasn’t having any trouble walking now.  It was a bit more awkward when Raphael helped him into bed, though.

“I can’t stay around much longer, but I’m sure Aziraphale will be back down soon,” said Raphael, moving towards the door.

“O—Oh, you’re leaving?”

“I’ve patched you up as best as I can, so there’s not much else I can do.  Let me know if you start feeling pain in your back again.”

“Oh, okay—wait!”

Raphael’s hand froze on the doorknob, and Crowley flushed with embarrassment, feeling like a child.

“Er, could you….Would you mind putting some anti-demon sigils on the outside of the shop before you go?”

“Oh,” said Raphael brightening.  “Of course. How could I forget how you got injured in the first place?  Don’t worry, leave it to me.  You can rest safely.”

As the bedroom door shut, Crowley felt like he had gained an awkward relative of some sort.  But he was fine with it.  He needed all the allies he could get.

* * *

“Come on, come on,” said Aziraphale, dragging Victoria out of the medical ward and through the courtyard. “If you were going to hold me back, you shouldn’t have offered to escort me back down.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t overexert yourself yet,” said Victoria helplessly as Aziraphale motored forwards at an agitated pace.

She put her foot down and kept him grounded when he tried to fly over the gates.  He huffed in annoyance and tapped his foot as the gates winched open, then continued to the entrance to Earth, walking straight off it and diving feet-first.

Victoria followed as Aziraphale dropped out of the sky, miles up, white clouds rushing past them. She snapped her wings open and glared at Aziraphale until he did so as well, convincing him that they should descend by gently spiraling rather than skydiving like he had wanted.

They finally arrived at the bookshop.  She noted the outside of the building was covered with crude marks in white spray paint. Aziraphale opened the door and left his keys in the knob, which even Victoria, who hadn’t spent much time on Earth, knew was a no-no.  She shut the door behind them and put the keys on the counter.

“Crowley?  Where are you?” Aziraphale called.  He stuck his head in the back room, found it empty, then marched up the stairs.

Victoria followed as Aziraphale opened the bedroom door without knocking.  The room was dim, bars of light from the blinded windows falling onto a lump under the covers of the bed.

“Crowley?”

The duvet drew back, revealing a pair of yellow eyes looking at him sleepily.

“There you are,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the edge of the bed.  The rest of Crowley appeared from under the duvet.  They took each other in their arms.  Victoria couldn’t help but think they were holding each other uncomfortably close.

When Crowley reached up and kissed Aziraphale on the mouth, and Aziraphale’s hands slid down lower on Crowley’s body, Victoria gasped and spluttered, “You’re—?”

They broke off, looking at Victoria strangely.  “We’re what?”

She was growing red. “You’re _together?_ ”

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale, dismayed, “You were _there_ when Camael confirmed he loved me, don’t you remember?”

“Well, yes, but I thought…”

“You thought what?” Crowley prodded.

“I thought.  You know, it was _philos_ love, not…”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “Well, I suppose there’s that, too…”

“I, uh, I’ll just be going now, then,” said Victoria, growing more embarrassed by the second. “Let me know if you need help with anything, all right?  I’ll definitely ask about getting someone sent down to protect you.”

This last sentence was said as Victoria moved towards the door and disappeared through it.

Crowley’s eyes slid shut and he gave a small laugh that Aziraphale found absolutely delightful. “ _Philos._  Does Heaven understand anything?  As though someone would go into Hell for anything less than _eros._ ”

Aziraphale gave him a little slap, and Crowley really regretted saying that, because then he had to listen to Aziraphale talk about how _philos_ wasn’t “less than” _eros_ until he tired himself out enough to fall asleep.

* * *

“Coffee?”

Aziraphale looked up from his notes.  “I’m more in the mood for tea.”

Crowley waved a hand over the cup, then extended it out again.  “Tea?”

Aziraphale sighed and took the cup.  “What are you working on?” said Crowley, seating himself next to him.

Aziraphale ruffled his papers.  “I’m trying to design a demon-repelling sigil that will still allow you to come and go. So we can put it on the outside of the shop and keep it up.”

It seemed like a good idea. And if anyone would be able to design new occult symbols, it _would_ be Aziraphale, with all those books of magical things he kept around. “Have you ever designed a sigil like this before?”

“No, unfortunately.”

Ah.  “How do you know it’ll work?”

“Crowley, I’m still designing it.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. “This would be much easier if I had my copy of the Key of Solomon. I looked everywhere for the bloody thing but I can’t find it.”

“You can’t find it?”

“Someone must have taken it. I knew it was a bad idea to let customers into the shop.”

Crowley sipped his coffee. He looked to the front window, where the symbols Raphael had painted were still visible on the front window. He had noticed they kept customers out as well as demons. “You could incorporate my real name into the sigil. That would make sure it was only me and no other demons that could get past it.”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, slamming his hand on the table, “I’m not putting your true name in an anti-demon sigil.  That’s too dangerous.”

“It’s dangerous to protect ourselves with a sigil that has holes in it,” Crowley shot back hotly. “Who knows who’s going to show up next?”

Aziraphale rubbed his temples.  “We’ll be getting help from Heaven soon, hopefully.  It doesn’t need to be air-tight.”

The handle of Crowley’s coffee mug suddenly snapped off, and it was then that he realized how tightly he had been holding it.  He let out a deliberate breath and put the handle down.

Aziraphale marked the page he was on and then closed the volume he had open on the table.  “I can see we’re both a little stressed out right now. It’s natural.  Let’s just calm down.”

They were both scared, but neither of them wanted to acknowledge it.  “Come on, I’ll make us breakfast,” said Aziraphale, patting Crowley’s hand.

They ended up back in the bedroom after breakfast, but when they discovered they were both still quite sore and vigorous activity of any sort would be bothersome, they ended up just laying there and watching telly.  Aziraphale let Crowley have the remote, and when the demon predictably fell asleep, the angel quietly slipped out of bed and went back downstairs.  A few more hours with his spell books and he had a new sigil that would bar the entrance of any demon with one very special exception. He wiped the outside of the building clean before putting it up.  He then crawled back into bed, wrapping around Crowley, secure and resolved to still follow through on the promise he had made before to not let anything happen to him.


	2. The Legion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158234424560/aziraphales-legion-part-2-the-legion

Surprisingly, Crowley was the first one awake.

That wasn’t good. Crowley knew that if he _could_ sleep in but woke up before Aziraphale annoyed him out of complacency, it was because there was something wrong and his instincts were kicking in.

“My spider senses are tingling,” he muttered to himself, slipping out of bed.  He peeked out through the blinds.

A demon in the deserted street stared back up at him with beady eyes.  It was spreading its wings.  It was looking directly at him.  And it was not alone.

“ _Ssshhit!_ ” he said, leaping back towards the bed. “Aziraphale, wake up!  We’ve got company!”

“Hm?  Wh-What? What?” said Aziraphale, starting awake and flailing.

That demon had been crouching as though it were getting ready to launch itself up the fire escape and into the bedroom window, so that route was out as far as evacuation went. “Come on!” said Crowley, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm and physically dragging him towards the bedroom door.

“Demons can’t get in!” said Aziraphale as they rocketed down the stairs, Crowley pulling him, his fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.  “Surely no one’s breached the sigils. They can’t-”

He was cut off by a sudden _crash_ and the sound of books tumbling over each other.  

“Shelf fell over by itself then, did it?” said Crowley, whirling around and pushing Aziraphale back up. There was a sound from downstairs that was eerily reminiscent of a hyena laughing.

They burst back into the bedroom, determined to go out the window, but it slammed open by a pair of clawed hands.  A demon’s face appeared in the window, eyes burning on Aziraphale.  

Crowley hissed and pulled Aziraphale down the stairs again, the sound of cloven hooves on the wood floor frighteningly close behind them.

“How many are there?” said Aziraphale.  He was obviously weighing if he could pull his sword out and fight them off, but the effect was diminished by the fact that he was still in his nightgown.

He got the answer to his question as they came out of the stairwell and saw the state of the bookshop, and that answer was _a lot_. A score of eyes of every variety of colour and shape turned on him as he emerged.  Aziraphale thought about trying to go back up, but bodies were appearing at the top of the stairs now.

They moved horizontally against the wall, but the horde of demons closed in on them almost immediately, and the effort only succeeded in cornering them against a bookshelf.

“Stay back!” shouted Aziraphale, feeling around in the aether for his weapon.  “I have a sword!  Um…somewhere.”

 _Well_ , thought Crowley, _this is it, then_.  He had guessed he would die by Aziraphale’s side ever since the ending of the first attempt at the apocalypse.  He just hadn’t expected it to happen while he was in only his pants.

The rest of the demons had appeared from upstairs, and they all crowded towards the pair, eager expressions on their warped faces.  “Are you the principality Aziraphale?” said a demon towards the front.  Her teeth were a bit too sharp, and her ears were neither shaped correctly nor placed correctly on her head.

“Yes!” said Aziraphale, finally drawing his sword.  It _whoosh_ ed into flames, and he brandished it about. The demons drew back slightly, the flickering light reflecting harshly in their animalistic eyes.

“The one who slaughtered Satan?” the demon at the front continued.

“That’s me!”

All the demons assembled dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.  “Hail Aziraphale!” shouted a voice from the back.

The only sound was the crackling of the fire on his sword.  “ _I beg your pardon?_ ”

“Hail!” repeated the voice.

“Yes, I _heard_ you,” stuttered Aziraphale.  “I don’t _understand_ …”

“You slew the Adversary,” said the demon towards the front, who seemed a bit braver than the rest. “You bested Satan in combat.  You are his rightful successor.”

“I’m— _What?_ ” said Aziraphale.

“Our new master!” shouted the voice from the back.  “Give us a command!”

“No, no, no, _no_ ,” said Aziraphale fussily.  “I’m not a master of anything, much less a horde of demons.”

The demon at the front was beginning to look dismayed.  “Lord Aziraphale,” she said, still kneeling, “we are at your disposal.  We are your loyal subjects.”

“That can’t be right,” Aziraphale said.  “What are you all here for?”

“To serve you.”

“To serve _me?_ ”

“Hold on,” said Crowley. “You all are pledging your loyalty to _Aziraphale?_ ”

“Yes.”

“You all fancy _Aziraphale_ as the new Satan?”

“Yes, there is no one better suited for the position.”

Crowley clapped his hands over his mouth to try and stifle the laughter.

“The logical successor of Satan is the one who dethroned him!” a demon towards the back cried. “The mighty Aziraphale shall take his place!”

“That can’t be right,” Aziraphale whined.  “You all need to leave right now.”

The ensuing silence was broken by an enormous _boom_ from the front of the bookshop that rattled the fluorescent lights, as though something very heavy were landing on the cement.  Simultaneously a huge figure appeared in the doorway.

The demons in the shop recognized the figure immediately, and they realized they had been caught showing supplication towards an angel by this person.  But their next move would have been to kneel and beg for mercy and they were already kneeling, so they all just stayed where they were.

The bell on the door jingled happily as it pushed open, and one enormous clawed foot stepped in and raked the wood.  Black feathers ruffled with interest, intense red eyes burning into Aziraphale.  She had to duck to fit through the doorway, then stretched out to her full height once inside.

The archdemon Maltha had arrived.

“Maltha!” said Aziraphale, and he did not know whether to be alarmed or relieved.  His thoughts rushed back to when they had parted.  Maybe she was here to help, but maybe she was here to kill them.

She strode forwards, her enormous wings brushing against the heads of the lesser demons as she passed. They all shied away from her, bowing lower.

“Do you think she’s mad at me?” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, suppressing his urge to try and back away.

She stopped directly in front of Aziraphale. He gulped, not raising his sword, but not lowering it either. Crowley was holding his breath beside him.

Maltha flashed him an inhuman smile and dropped to one knee.  “Hail Aziraphale.”

“No, no, _no,_ ” said Aziraphale, sounding like he wanted to throw his sword to the ground.  “Maltha, surely you don’t believe this nonsense?”

“You bested Satan in combat,” she rumbled.  “His throne falls to you.”

“No,” he said.  “You all need to leave right now.”

He felt a hand tugging on his sleeve.  “Aziraphale, can I talk to you for a second?” said Crowley, pulling his arm.

“A-All right,” said Aziraphale.  “You lot stay out here!  You hear me?”

They slid nervously away from the demons to the back room.  It was still trashed, and they picked their way carefully to the other side, where they had the least chance of being overheard.

“Aziraphale, I think we should let them stay,” said Crowley.

“What?” said Aziraphale. “Surely you can’t mean that.  This can only end in disaster.”

“Think about it, Aziraphale. If they were able to find us, then it means our location is out.  And I bet the next group of demons who show up might be more interested in avenging Satan than putting you on his throne.  This group is too small to seriously try and crown you King of Hell, but it’s big enough that it might fend off rival factions that would be interested in getting their hands on you.”

“Crowley is right,” said Maltha’s voice, and she appeared at the entrance to the back room.  She crunched over broken glass and spell ingredients to get to them.  “Aziraphale, you have no _idea_ what kind of chaos Hell is in right now.  Satan’s death has created a power vacuum everyone is desperately trying to fill.  All the higher-ups are fighting to take Satan’s position.  All the archdemons and even some of the dukes are laying claims.  The logical successor would have been Ba’al Berith, but he was already killed.  The next choice would have been Beelzebub, but Hell isn’t uniting behind him for some reason.  Agares seems to be pulling a disproportionate amount of support, and I can’t figure out why. But not even she has enough factions to secure the throne.  It’s a free-for-all.  All the rules keeping Hell in _some_ sense of order have gone out the window.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me, though!” protested Aziraphale.  “Why am I being dragged into it?”

“The other archdemons want you because they need _something_ to support their claim to the throne.  Anyone who can prove they killed Satan’s murderer would rally all the forces personally loyal to Satan to their side.  And—”  Here her fearsome red eyes swung to Crowley.  “They haven’t forgotten about you, either.  The only demon who brazenly betrayed Hell and ruined the war.  It’s a package deal as far as they’re concerned. Satan’s killer, and Hell’s biggest traitor.  You’ve made yourselves the biggest targets on Earth.”

Aziraphale deflated. “So what you’re saying is, we could use all the help we can get?”

“If you want to keep Crowley safe, this is what you need to do.”

Damn her.  She must have known the effect phrasing it that way would have on him.  “But it doesn’t make any sense—I’m an angel!  There’s no way _I_ should be the one to pledge loyalty to.  I don’t trust them.  Why would they be loyal to _me?_ I don’t _want_ Satan’s position.”

“Aziraphale,” said Maltha, leaning in, as though afraid of being overheard.  “It’s an excuse.  A rallying cry.”  She turned towards Crowley.  “Did you not notice?  They’re field agents, like you.  They are inspired by your rebellion.  They saw a chance to break away from Hell and pledge loyalty to Earth instead, and they took it.”

“The sigils,” said Aziraphale, the colour draining from his face.  “I designed them to keep demons out, except they allowed—”

“They allowed in demons who love the Earth,” said Maltha.  “Which you _assumed_ meant it would only admit Crowley.  It turns out you are not as alone as you thought you were.”

“I’ll be damned,” said Crowley.  “I had no idea.”

“Like it or not, Aziraphale, you and Crowley can’t disentangle yourselves from this fight. You’re not a pawn anymore.  You’re a king.  These are your pieces.  It would be foolish of you to turn them away.”

“If I’m the king,” said Aziraphale with suspicion, “what does that make you?”

Maltha’s eyes glinted with amusement, and she put her hand on Crowley’s shoulder.  “I want to say I’m the queen, except that position’s already been taken by this one here.”

“Hey!” said Crowley, blushing.

“You can trust me, Aziraphale,” said Maltha.  “We’re on the same side.  Let’s talk more later.  Right now, we need-”

“Maltha!”

This last bit was spoken by a shrill voice from outside the room, and Maltha’s face froze into an expression of panic.

A head piled high with blonde hair appeared in the doorway.  “Maltha, there you are!”

Maltha turned to face the woman walking into the room.  As soon as she reached her, Maltha’s enormous hands came down on her petite shoulders. “Beth, I told you to wait outside.”

“Is that a human?” said Crowley.  “You brought a human with you?”

The woman spared Crowley one glance before returning her attention back to Maltha.  “I know, but you were gone for so long I thought I should come in.”  She had a very loud voice, and her accent was heavily American, somewhere from the south it seemed.

“Beth, I was inside for three minutes!”

“That _is_ a human, right?” said Crowley.  “A human that just walked through that crowd of demons to get to us?”

“Oh, is that what they were?” said Beth.  “I thought they looked a little funny.  Are you a demon too?  I could tell by your eyes.  Your underwear doesn’t look very demonic, though.”

“Er,” said Crowley, suddenly becoming self-aware.  He snapped his fingers and materialized a suit, tightening the tie around his neck with some attempt to recover his demonic dignity.  Aziraphale followed suit, summoning an outfit that included that hideous sweatervest from his upstairs closet.

Beth did not seem fazed by the miracle.  Maltha gestured to Aziraphale and Crowley.  “These are the ones I was telling you about.”  She lowered her voice.  “You and I need to talk later, but we’re in the middle of something right now.”

“Maltha?  Um, who is this?” said Crowley.

“Later,” she said quickly. “Aziraphale, you need to make a decision.  We can’t keep them waiting.”

“Oh, all right,” he said, distressed.

They came back out. The demons were all milling about, but snapped to attention when they saw him.

“Okay!” said Aziraphale, raising his voice so everyone in the shop could hear.  “You, there, in the back!”

A demon towards the back pointed to itself with a meaty paw.

“Yes, you.  Make sure that sign on the door is turned to ‘closed,’ will you?”

The demon obliged. The sign was already on “closed.”

“Right!” said Aziraphale. “Ah…”  He froze with a brief spat of stage fright as dozens of infernal eyes stared into him.  “Since you all are pledging loyalty to me, as your new master—”

“Hail Aziraphale!” shouted someone, and the group erupted into a boisterous cheer.  A few of them looked like they wanted to surge forwards and lift him up.

“Yes, yes!” said Aziraphale, shushing them.  “We have to lay some ground rules.  First off….erm, you have to do whatever I tell you!”

Their blank stares told him this had already been a given.  “Ah,” he fumbled, then pointed to Crowley.  “Right, and if I’m not around, you have to do whatever Crowley tells you!”

There was a smattering of low voices saying “Hail Crowley!” which Crowley waved off, embarrassed.

“And if Crowley’s not around either, do whatever Maltha tells you to do!  And if she’s not around, er….do whatever Beth tells you to do.”

“You don’t even know who Beth _is_ ,” Crowley hissed.

“Shush,” said Aziraphale. “Okay, next rule….I can’t have you all running around unsupervised, so you have to stay in or on the premises of the bookshop unless you ask permission!”

The demons looked at each other unsurely.  It was already crowded in here.

“Where are we going to put them all?” muttered Crowley.

“The adjacent flat,” said Aziraphale.  “It’s empty.”

“I didn’t know you rented it out.”

“I don’t—bugger, Crowley, I’m doing my best here!”

“We’ll have to knock the wall out, then.  I’ll get the sledgehammer.”

“Oh dear.”  He raised his voice again.  “All right, next thing, no hurting any angels!  Or—or humans!  Well, maybe if they try to come in the shop and buy—No, no hurting any human!”

The demons all got a look of very painfully fake disappointment on their faces. One of them even snapped his fingers and said _Darn_.

“All right,” said Aziraphale, gaining courage.  “And no touching the books!  Unless you’re very careful with them and put them back where you found them!  And finally, it has to be quiet between the hours of eleven PM and seven AM so we can sleep!”

“Eight AM,” interjected Crowley.

“All right!  And if anyone breaks any of those rules, they’ll feel my wrath—or something!”

“We’ll follow your rules, lord!” said a demon towards the front.

Aziraphale thought it would be a good idea to have the demons come up one by one and introduce themselves so he knew who he was dealing with.  So he and Crowley took to the back room, sitting on the destroyed couch and trying to avoid being poked in the backside by the exposed springs, and let Maltha and Beth usher the demons in and out one by one.

Aziraphale took notes as he asked them to introduce themselves.  The very first demon looked embarrassed and apologized for knocking one of Aziraphale’s bookshelves over.  She mumbled that the demon next to her had pushed her, and she had fallen into it, but that she would clean it up at the first available opportunity. Aziraphale told her not to worry about it and pressed on with the questions he wanted to ask her.

They soon discovered that Maltha had been exactly right—they were all demons stationed in the field on Earth for long periods of time.  And an irritatingly familiar pattern soon emerged: when they were telling them a little about themselves, most of them tried to take credit for things Crowley knew for a fact they could not have done.

“I seduced the ruler Phalaris and drove him to tyranny.”

“[ _I_ was the one who seduced Phalaris](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6958873),” said Crowley.  “And he did all that on his own.”

“…I meant a different Phalaris.”

“What other Phalaris was there?”

“There was one in…South America.  You probably hadn’t heard of him.”

“I orchestrated the fall of Rome,” claimed a second demon.

“You’re responsible for the fall of Rome.”

“Yes.”

“Did that all on your own, did you?”

“Yes.”

“How, exactly?”

“….”

“Can you give me a brief summary of the social and economic factors surrounding the collapse of the Roman—“

“Too complex.  You wouldn’t understand my methods.”

“I spread the bubonic plague,” said another demon, proudly.

“Everyone knows that was Pestilence,” said Aziraphale.

“Er….  The Crusades.  I had a hand in the Crusades.”

“That was War!” said Crowley.  “Bloody hell, are you going to try and take credit for the concept of dying next?”

“I tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden.”

Crowley hid his face in his hands and sighed deeply.

“…..the band Cannibal Corpse?”

“…Okay, that one I can believe.”

It went on and on like this. Multiple demons tried to take credit for the Inquisition.  One claimed to have caused the burning of the library of Alexandria, and another said she had single-handedly caused the expansion of the British empire and the American slave trade.  One produced a commendation he said was for inventing homophobia, but the writing on the certificate was smudged and there was no way to tell what it was actually for. Another tried to say they had pioneered the concept of torturing people for information. Another took credit for trepanning. Another for lobotomies.  Another for neglect of children in orphanages.  None of them looked like they had ever had the stomach to hurt an animal, let alone a human.  

As the last demon exited, Aziraphale put his hand over his mouth to hold in his laughter.  “Crowley, they’re just like you.  They haven’t done a single thing with their time on Earth and just took credit for what humans did.”

Crowley glared daggers at him.  “I didn’t do _nothing._  What’s that supposed to mean?  You think Manchester is nothing?  And—the phone lines?”

“And the coins on the sidewalk?” said Aziraphale, with affectionate sarcasm.  “Compared to the things you got commendations for—”

“All right, all right,” said Crowley huffily.  

They decided to tackle the problem of space next.  Aziraphale grimaced when Crowley produced the promised sledgehammer.

“Technically this is vandalism, so I can’t participate in opening the wall,” the angel tried.

“Oh no you don’t.  You’re not leaving all this work to me.  Get into a set of old clothes and come on.”

A few demons ventured upstairs to see what the noise was and became distressed when Aziraphale declined their offer to let them do the work instead and grab him a chair to watch. Eventually he was only able to stop their nagging by ordering them back downstairs until the renovation was complete, asking Maltha to keep them corralled out of the way.

They were pleased to find that the flat next door was spacious and had a good deal of furniture in it.  They took the time to cover the walls and doors with the same anti-demon sigils that adorned the shop.  If anyone happened to come by to see it, they would certainly be surprised by how decided not-empty the “vacant” flat was, but they would deal with that if it happened.

While they were surveying it, a demon approached them with two glasses of lemonade.

“Oh, thank you,” said Crowley, taking one with a plaster-covered hand.  The demon nodded, blushed, and scurried away.

“What was her name?” said Aziraphale.

“Oryss, I think,” said Crowley.  “Why?”

“I think I’d better learn their names to keep track of them.”

It was getting late by the time they were finished.  Crowley took out his mobile and called Domino’s, and a bewildered deliveryman came by with a stack of pizza boxes an hour later.

They watched as the demons diffused through the complex formed by the connected shop, back room, upstairs, and the adjacent flat, then the two of them retreated to the bedroom when things seemed under control.

To their irritation, they found a demon in their room before them. He stood at attention and saluted when they came in.  Crowley remembered that his name was Botis.  He looked very distinctive: pale white skin, big tusks from under a bristling mustache, nubby horns, and a shiny sword he did not seem entirely comfortable holding. He had stood out from the rest of the demons by virtue of his sheer mass and ugliness.

“What are you doing in here?” said Aziraphale hotly.

“Lord!” said Botis, looking very serious.  “Please allow me to stand guard over you while you sleep!”

“That won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale told him.

“Lord, someone could come in using the stairs on the fire escape!”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Botis.”

“Allow me to stand inside at the bedroom door, at least!”

“Thank you, Botis, but please leave.”

“Allow me to stand outside the bedroom door, at least?”

“Er,” said Crowley, picturing what Botis might overhear.  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Botis’s very pale face was growing red.  “Sirs! Please allow me to guard you somehow!”

“All right,” said Aziraphale wearily, trying to figure out how to make him go away.  “Why don’t you stand in the living room of the flat and make sure nobody tries to come in.”

Botis saluted, stepped out of the room, saluted again, then pulled the door shut behind him.

“Oof,” said Crowley, throwing himself on the bed.  “Bloody Hell, I’m tired.”

“It’s only eight,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the bed next to him.

“That’s late enough,” said Crowley.  “Let’s let Maltha handle everyone downstairs.”

The bedroom window slid open softly seemingly of its own accord.  Crowley propped himself up on one elbow to look at it.

An enormous raven appeared, perching on the windowsill and turning its head to look at them with one red eye.

“Speak of the devil,” said Crowley.

The black bird shifted into the form of an enormous woman sitting on the ledge.  “And she shall appear,” Maltha finished.  “The three of us need to talk.”

“I’ll say,” said Aziraphale, standing, intending to charge ahead with his anger.  Her disappearance during the second attempt at the apocalypse had been preoccupying him for a while now, and he was ready to demand answers. But he stopped when he saw Maltha looked consumed with anger of her own.

He suddenly reflected on his actions in her absence and how she might feel about them.

“I heard about what you did, Aziraphale,” she said, confirming his fears.  “And I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else, but now that we’re alone…”

She removed herself from the windowsill and took one step towards him.  The smack of her hand hitting his face could be heard all the way downstairs.

Aziraphale staggered backwards, reeling, hand on the enormous red mark blossoming on his cheek.

Maltha leaned in with a sneer, pointing at Crowley.  “Have you apologized to him?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, glowering.

“I left him with you because I thought you would take care of him!” she cried.  “And when I finally get caught up on what’s going on, I find out you landed him on Satan’s own torture rack!  I thought you loved him!”

“I _do_ ,” Aziraphale tried to defend.  “It-it was a mistake.”

Her hand came up and hit his other cheek.  “Forgetting to lock the door is a _mistake_ ,” Maltha said.  “What _you_ did is not a _mistake_.”

Aziraphale could not help but notice Crowley did not seem inclined to defend him.  He swallowed and tried to form words, but Maltha pressed on:

“I’ll take him from you, Aziraphale.  You think I won’t?  You’re not the only one who cares about him.  You’d do well to remember that.  If you abuse him like that again, I’ll make sure you never see him again.”

Another blow, this one in his stomach.  He coughed and managed to get in, “You can’t be mad at me for him switching sides! It was to keep him safe!”

“Switching sides?” said Maltha, enraged.  “You think I’m angry about him _switching sides?_ ”

Crowley finally came forwards and took Maltha’s arm.  “Aziraphale isn’t going to do it again because he doesn’t want to hurt me, not because of your threats, Maltha,” he said.  “Please, you’re not going to do anything by hitting him.”

Maltha’s eyes swung from Crowley to Aziraphale and back again.  She crossed her arms, mercifully taking them out of attack position.

Aziraphale, still ruffled, snapped, “Well I don’t know what you _expected_ me to do!  I had no resources at my disposal, I had no courses of action, and you were nowhere to be found! At least I _tried!_ Where were _you?_ ”

The anger on Maltha’s face began to fade.  She grimaced, stepped back, and reseated herself on the windowsill.  “No.  You’re right. No, it’s my fault too.  I…I’ve been here on Earth.  Exploring, just as I said I would.”

“But surely Hell must have tried to contact you at some point!” said Crowley.  “You’re one of the most powerful demons Hell has!  They wouldn’t just leave you up here wandering around while they were gearing up for war!”

“I made myself hard to find on purpose because I didn’t want Hell to bother me.  And I…told those who came not to contact me again unless Satan himself died.”

“Oh my God.  Nobody tells Maltha what to do, is that it?”

She bit her lip.

Crowley wanted to yell at her that she had responsibilities, that someone like her couldn’t just ignore everyone else and disappear off on her own.  But it seemed inappropriate to chastise her like a child.

Maltha scraped the windowsill with her fingernail.  “I’m sorry that I hit you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale rubbed his cheek. “I suppose I deserve it.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

“He’s made up for it, all right?” said Crowley.  “He messed up, but he also killed Satan himself to try and fix it.  It’s done and in the past.”

“I suppose so,” said Maltha. “Aziraphale, you’re damn lucky it worked out the way it did.  How on Earth did you get the archangel Michael to take an interest in helping you?”

“Er, not on Earth,” said Aziraphale.  “But we’re friends, sort of, I suppose.”

“ _You’re_ friends with Michael?”

“A little bit.  I mean, we met when the Earth was still new and he came down to check it out. I don’t think he was supposed to be down here, but I showed him around a little.  He doesn’t come down to Earth very much, but when he does he’s always popped in to see me and try to catch up.  It’s a bit of a one-sided friendship.”

“I’d imagine,” said Maltha. “I don’t know what he’d gain by being friends with a principality.”

Aziraphale blushed, because he had actually meant it was one-sided the other way around.  Until he needed Michael’s help rescuing Crowley, he had usually tried to make Michael stop pestering him as soon as possible.

“Regardless,” said Maltha. “He’s not here now, and it’s obvious you have no idea what you’re doing.  These demons have all pledged their loyalty to you, but I won’t let you throw their lives away.  They’re defenders of the Earth just like you, Crowley, and me.  If you let things get out of control, I _will_ step in, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale supposed it was meant to be a threat, but the thought of Maltha forcing the demons to follow her instead secretly sounded very appealing to him.  But he kept the thought to himself.

“Like you?” said Crowley. “So I take it you like what you saw, then?  When you went to see Earth?”

“Very much,” she said softly.  “You’ll notice that your anti-demon glyphs also admitted _me_.”

“And that woman?” said Aziraphale.  “The human you brought with you?”

“She’s…a partner with whom I’ve been travelling.  I admit I don’t really know anything about how humans think, so she’s been very helpful.”

“Well, be sure you keep her out of the way,” said Aziraphale.  “With all these new demons running around.  Anything could happen.”

“Of course.”

“Maltha, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with that human?” said Crowley, a bit unsurely.

Maltha looked at him and didn’t answer.

“You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, you know.”

“Heartbreak?”

“Getting emotionally attached to individual humans.  If you’re going to be... _with_ her…you know she’s going to die eventually, right?”

Maltha looked at him haughtily.  “I am the most powerful healer in Creation, and no one dies unless I allow it.”

“Your pride will be your downfall, Maltha.”

Her pupils expanded and contracted on him.  Aziraphale wondered if anyone had ever had the courage to speak to her that way.

“She’s going to get old,” Crowley pressed.  “She’ll age and then she’ll die.”

Maltha face cracked into a smile.  “And where will she go after that?”

They both processed the question.

“You sly demon,” said Aziraphale.

“But what if she goes to Heaven?” said Crowley.  “If she goes to Hell where you have influence that’s all well and good, but if she goes to Heaven she’ll be permanently out of your reach.”

Maltha idly bounced her legs against the wall.  “Trust me, she’s not going to Heaven.”

“Wh-what?”

“Never mind that.  Leave Beth to me.  We need to get back to the topic at hand.  We’re going to be facing some serious adversity soon, and I need to make sure you trust me.  Both of you, look at me.”

They did so.

“I know we…got off to a bit of a rocky start.  And I’m sure you still harbor some resentment because I wasn’t there when you needed me.  If I had known what was going on, I could have saved you two a lot of trouble.  But I’m here now.  I’m not running away anymore.  I know what it is I want and what I love, and it’s thanks to you for showing me.  And if it comes down to it, I’ll die defending this planet if I have to.”  A smirk crossed her face.  “And Aziraphale, you’ve still got it wrong.”

“What wrong?”

“You said Crowley switched sides.  You’re still thinking in terms of _sides._ We’re not on Hell’s side. We’re not on Heaven’s side.  We’ve made our own side.  This is Earth, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned so far is that on Earth you play by your own rules.  Hell might not view Crowley as one of their own anymore, but as far as I’m concerned nothing’s changed—and I guarantee you the demons milling about in your shop feel the same way.”

She removed herself from the window and exited via the doorway.  “You two get some sleep.  Beth and I can handle that lot downstairs until morning.”

“Thank you, Maltha,” said Crowley.

“Of course, my healer.”

The door shut, leaving the two alone in the bedroom.

Crowley exhaled in relief, strode forwards, and lifted a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek.  “She’s got a mean right hook, hasn’t she?”

Aziraphale grabbed his hand before he could touch the red mark.  “Don’t heal it.”

“Why not?”

“I deserve it.”

Crowley sighed and dropped his hand. He leaned forwards and gave him a peck on the cheek.  The stinging sensation faded.

Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s hands.

Crowley let go, flopped onto the bed, and crawled forwards, burying his face in the pillow.  “Can we sleep forever and let Maltha deal with the island of Doctor Moreau?”

Aziraphale lay down next to him.  “I suppose we should at least let them all stay until this all blows over…”

“Hopefully it _will_ blow over.”

“Crowley, I can’t be in command of a regiment of demons for the rest of my life!  What if Heaven finds out?”

“I’m sure they’d do something stupid like they always do,” muttered Crowley.  

Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Well, we’ve won the archdemon Maltha over to the cause of the Earth.  That’s an accomplishment, right?  I mean, who could really pose a threat to _her_ …?”

“Satan, but he’s dead,” said Crowley.  “I suppose the other archdemons could give her a good fight, but they usually don’t bother fighting directly, so who knows how a showdown between them could go?”

“Mm,” said Aziraphale, rubbing Crowley’s back.  “And the archangels, I suppose.”

Crowley shook with muffled laughter.  “Can you imagine Uriel or Metatron trying to fight her?  They’re certainly equal in aura strength, but I don’t think they’ve been in combat since the beginning of Creation.  Imagine the look on their faces.”

“Well, that’s not the point,” said Aziraphale, a bit defensively.  “That’s what Michael is for.”

Crowley rolled over. “Michael.  Right, there’s him….But I’m sure he’s got better things to do.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, giving him a kiss and turning the light off.  “It’s not like _he’s_ going to show up.”


	3. Michael Shows Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158372731335/aziraphales-legion-part-3-michael-shows-up

Victoria was ready.

She had done all the paperwork, in triplicate.  It hadn’t been easy to find the time to do that, but Gabriel was a stickler for paperwork and it was the necessary first step.  She had confirmed with Gabriel’s PA where he would be and that he would be free, so that she could have his full attention.  And as a final touch, she had prepared a very convincing (in her opinion) half-truth to try on Gabriel if all else failed.

Aziraphale probably wouldn’t even thank her for sticking her neck out for him, so she didn’t know why she would bother. 

She sighed. Yes she did. Because of that demon stuck with him. As far as she could tell, Crowley was clever enough to mostly take care of himself, but Aziraphale had dragged him into the mess that was going to be bringing heat down on them both soon, and he didn’t have the option of hiding behind Heaven’s brass gates like Aziraphale did.  That demon had had enough unlucky breaks that she thought he deserved to have someone trying to help him out.

So here she was, in front of Gabriel’s office.  She squared her shoulders and marched in.

“Victoria,” said Gabriel, not looking up from his desk.  “How are you? I’m afraid I don’t have any news on Camael’s replacement, if that’s what you’re here for….again.”

Victoria dropped the paperwork onto his desk.  “Actually, sir, I wanted to talk to you about something else. The principality Aziraphale is under enough excess physical threat that I believe it merits sending a small arm of warriors down to keep him safe.”

Gabriel’s eyes landed on her paperwork without him even moving his head.  “If Aziraphale is in so much danger, he can come up here where no demons can get to him.  I’m sure we can find something constructive for him to do in Heaven.”

Victoria took a deep breath. Here came the lie.  Half-truth. “Sir, it’s not really practical to simply bring Aziraphale back up here.”

Gabriel gave her a sarcastic look.  “And whyever not?”

“Because the attention drawn to him by his role in Satan’s death won’t go away if we remove him.  In my professional opinion, as a warrior and battle strategist, any angel sent down to replace Aziraphale would also be in danger because most of his enemies don’t know what he looks like.  They simply know the principality of England killed Satan.  It would be superfluous to re-station him because we would still have to send down warriors to protect his replacement.”

Gabriel looked at her tiredly.

“That’s my analysis of the situation, sir.”

Gabriel blinked at her and sighed.  “Victoria, I know the reason Aziraphale doesn’t want to come back up to Heaven is because he wants to be on Earth with that demon.”

Victoria swallowed.  “I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.”

“He seems loathe to part with the Earth every time the possibility is brought up.”

“That’s not my jurisdiction, sir.”

“Of course.  Your job is to bash in demon’s heads when someone above you points to them.”  Gabriel gave her a hard look.  “You’d do best not to forget that.”

Victoria wanted to snap at him that if he wanted her to not do any critical thinking, they shouldn’t have thrust all the responsibilities of a clerical angel onto her.  Thinking for herself was an annoying habit she had developed, and frankly it was making things troublesome.

She finally settled on muttering with as much respect as she could, “Of course, sir.”

“Aziraphale has dug himself into the pit he’s in now without any help.  He should be left to get himself out of it the same way.  We are not obligated to stretch to accommodate him because he does not want to follow orders.  If he’s really that concerned about his safety, he has the option of coming back up to Heaven, if he can bring himself to _grace_ us with his presence.”

Victoria took another deep breath.  “I understand, sir,” she said tentatively.  “ _But,_ I think you should consider the matter of Heaven’s infernal agent, who would also benefit from the protection of celestial warriors. We have enough forces free right now that it wouldn’t be bothersome to shift their stations nearby him.”

Gabriel massaged his temple. Before he could open his mouth to speak, she hastily tacked on, “And might I remind you the demon Crowley has a commendation from Heaven, signed by you and five of the other archangels, which proves he merits as much consideration from Heaven as an angel.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. He did that every time someone brought up that commendation.  Raphael and Michael had been the ones responsible for that.  They had annoyed the others into signing it, which they eventually did simply to get them to stop pestering them about it.  Little had they realized it would be brought up at every opportunity to solidify the legitimacy of Crowley’s celestial standing, which most of the archangels wanted to throw into limbo and only grudgingly accepted.

“Victoria,” said Gabriel. “I understand what you’re saying. But I can’t in good conscience ask any celestial warrior to protect a demon.  I don’t think any of them would accept that job.”

Now she had him.  She just had to worm past this one obstacle. “Sir, I think if you check your personnel records—”

She stopped at the sound of jangling armor, heavy boot steps, and jovial shouting from the front room. Gabriel and Victoria’s eyes both widened, and they scrambled to hide the paperwork.

Michael burst into the room full force.  “Gabriel!” he said, immediately rounding the desk and punching Gabriel on the arm. “And Victoria!  I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Angelo jogged into the room behind him, puffing as though he had been running to try and keep up. “Michael, this can wait if they’re in a meeting. It’s not really that important. We can sit outside.”

“Nonsense!” said Michael cheerily.  “It’s been too long since I’ve caught up with Victoria!  Haven’t had the chance to fight with her since she got packed off to Camael’s section.”

He gave her a few punches in the arm as well, which hurt because he was in his armor but she wasn’t. Victoria tried to edge the paperwork off the desk without him noticing, but it didn’t work. He ripped it out from under her hand.

“What were you guys talking about?  Something good, I bet.”

Gabriel stood.  “It’s nothing, Michael, don’t worry about it. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“It’s nothing very interesting,” said Victoria, sweating.  “I’m sure whatever you had was much more—”

“Aziraphale needs help again?” Michael boomed.  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?  I’ll head down right away!”

Gabriel sat down sourly. Angelo tried to tug the paperwork out of Michael’s hand.  “Michael, your schedule is very busy right now, I don’t know if we really have time—”

“Of course we have time!” Michael said.  “You can rearrange the schedule, Angelo, you’re good at that sort of thing.”

Michael dragged Angelo out. Gabriel looked at Victoria with annoyance and anger burning on his face, and he nodded his head out after Michael, as if to say, _You made this mess, now deal with it._

Victoria saluted him guiltily before dashing out.

“Michael, sir,” said Victoria, jogging to catch up.

“Yeah?” said Michael, not slowing down.

Victoria rounded to face him down from the front, forcing him to stop.  “Sir, I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think you going down to assist Aziraphale is the best option. Strategically.”

Michael looked from her to Angelo, whose face said he agreed with her.  He furrowed his brow, disappointment growing on his face. “What?  Why not?”

“Well,” said Victoria with as much patience as she could muster, “Sir, I know I can’t be the first one to say this to you, but you’re not supposed to go into battle on Earth until the final confrontation with the Adversary.”

“But the Adversary is dead!”

“Well, yes,” said Victoria. “But Heaven is still scheduled to proceed with the war as soon as it’s able.  We’ll need your skills then, even without the Adversary.  I’m sure Hell will have plenty of other Adversaries for you to tackle.  You’re too important to risk on routine missions on Earth, which is why you’re supposed to stay in Heaven.”

“But it’s so boring up here,” Michael whined.  “Gabriel can go down to Earth whenever he wants to.”

“Gabriel’s job requires going down to Earth.  He’s not doing it because he _wants_ to.”

“But that’s not fair,” Michael pressed.  “We’re the same rank.  Why should he get to boss me around?”

Victoria shook her head. “The plan, Michael.  The ineffable plan.  You’re supposed to stay in Heaven.  God said so.”  For all she knew, it was only Metatron who said so, but one didn’t question the voice of God.*

* * *

*Unless you were Aziraphale, apparently.

* * *

“That isn’t fair,” said Michael.  “All my warriors get to go down to Earth, or go off to work for the other archangels, but I’m expected to just sit around and sign paperwork when Gabriel gives it to me.  It isn’t fair.”

“I know.  And I’m sorry.  But that’s just how it is.  …Come on, Michael, you know how running off on your own pisses off Gabriel.  And Uriel.  And Metatron.”

“Aziraphale needs help, and you’re telling me I should just sit back and let my friend get killed!  I won’t do it.”

“Your…your friend?” said Victoria.

“Yeah,” said Michael, with a big grin. “I always go visit him when I go down to Earth!  He’s a real pal to me.”

“Michael, you’re not _supposed_ to—Oh, never mind that.  I’m not saying we shouldn’t protect Aziraphale.  What I had in mind was that we could send down a group of powers to watch him.  Six, or a dozen if you could spare them.”

“Powers? Victoria, that’s a great idea! You should come too!”  He put her in a headlock and ground his knuckle on her head.  “That’ll give me some time to catch up with my little sister!”

Michael was really the only angel Victoria would be considered “little” relative to.  “Me?” she exclaimed.  “I can’t go down to Earth now!  I’m the only one holding down Camael’s operation until they appoint a new archangel.”

“We can get someone else to do that,” Michael said.  “That’s hardly proper anyway, having a warrior angel doing that kind of work just because she’s the highest ranking under the empty position.  Angelo can find someone to take that job off your shoulders.  Can’t you, Angelo?”

“Er,” said Angelo, materializing his clipboard and a pencil.  “Michael, I _really_ don’t know if we have time to—”

“He’ll say he can’t, but he can,” said Michael, patting Victoria’s shoulder.  “He’s good at stuff like that.”

Angelo groaned and began to scribble on the clipboard.

“Now come on!” he said, clapping Victoria on the back.  “I’ll go get my favourite warriors and we can be down to Earth in no time!”

“Er…” said Victoria, bewildered.  She felt like she should be grateful for being excused from her miserable post, but she felt like she was left standing in the fallout of hurricane Michael as he motored away, like she always did when he showed up.

* * *

Crowley was woken up by a voice shouting.  He did that thing humans do when they are awoken from sound sleep and do not want to be: he decided whatever had woken him could not possibly be important enough to be worth getting up for, and that even if it were some life-threatening emergency, he would just deal with the consequences of rolling back over.

“Crowley!” said Aziraphale’s voice, and he felt himself shaken violently.  “Wake up, _now._ ”

Crowley jolted upright, the voice booming from outside taking form into words being delivered by a lofty voice.

“You have thirty seconds, vile fiends—”

Alarm surged through Crowley.  He scrambled to follow Aziraphale, who was racing towards the window.

“—to release Aziraphale before I come in there—”

The voice was coming from the roof.  Aziraphale slammed the window open and clambered out.

“ _I am the sword of Heaven_ —”

“Blast, not _him_ ,” said Crowley, the metal of the fire escape cold on his bare feet as he rocketed to follow.

“ _The bearer of divine wrath_ —”

Aziraphale released a string of curses as he flew up.

“ _The archangel—_ ”

“Michael!” screamed Aziraphale, waving his hands wildly as he leveled out onto the roof.  “Michael, wait!”

Crowley’s heart seized as he swooped up with Aziraphale.  Any demon’s would at the sight.  Michael was there, his massive, awesome wings beating to keep him in the air, his armor shining in the light, his sword erupting flames and held aloft, his curls of chestnut hair whipping in the wind and an expression of rage and bloodlust twisting on his face.  He looked like he had just sprung from a Renaissance painting in which he slew all the armies of Hell, as did the group of a dozen or so fearsome warrior angels behind him.

Crowley snapped his wings in on instinct, crashed into the roof, and froze on his hands and knees.

“Aziraphale!” said Michael, his voice no longer sounding quite like a thousand trumpets heralding the slaughter of the unrighteous.  He sounded a little disappointed, in fact, and his sword sputtered out and dropped down.

“Michael, don’t attack,” huffed Aziraphale.  “It’s all right, everything’s all right.”

“But Aziraphale!” Michael yelled, because he was still up in the air in a dramatic pose, as though he had not quite given up on the idea of mowing down everyone in the bookshop.  “I come down to find your shop surrounded by anti-demon glyphs and I sense intense demonic presence!  I thought they had gotten through somehow and were holding you hostage inside!”

”Aziraphale, what’s going on?” said Victoria in a strained voice.  “Where did all these demons come from?”

Aziraphale opened to his mouth to answer, and then shut it again, an expression of fear overcoming his face as a second pair of enormous wingbeats approached rapidly.

Maltha’s broad wings were black as night against the blue sky as she appeared. Michael immediately raised his sword again.

“An archdemon!”  He sounded absolutely delighted.

Maltha let out one booming hiss.

“No, no, no, no, no!” said Aziraphale, thinking of the damage a fight between the two of them would do.  He swooped in quickly to get between them. “Both of you, on the ground, _now._ ”

“Aziraphale, if he’s going to attack—” began Maltha.

“He’s not going to attack,” said Aziraphale, with a glare at Michael.  “ _Right?_ ”

“I am the sword of Heaven—”

“ _The answer was_ of course not, _Michael._ ”

“He came to keep you safe, Aziraphale,” said Victoria.  “And we come to find an _archdemon—_ ”

“You’ll keep me safe by putting your sword away and getting out of the air. Everything is under control.”

Both Maltha and Michael grimaced, looking at each other with hatred, but they drifted downwards and folded their wings in.  The angels behind Michael followed suit.

Crowley realized he was still kneeling on the pavement.  He got up and brushed himself off, feeling embarrassed.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale swiftly to him, “I have a sinking feeling Michael will ask to tour the bookshop and meet everyone.  Go get everything ready.”

 _Shit._  “Right.”

Maltha’s upper lip peeled back in a snarl as Aziraphale approached the pair again.  Crowley did not envy the job Aziraphale had ahead of him.

His feet tapped on the fire escape as he came down.  He miracled a change of wardrobe from his closet, thinking that maybe he should just start sleeping fully dressed.  He was still straightening his tie as he ducked into the window.  Botis was standing in the bedroom again when he came in. 

“Sir!” said Botis. “What’s going on?”

“You’re damn lucky you didn’t come up onto the roof,” said Crowley.  “We need to get everyone together, now.”

Crowley found some demons loitering in the flat next door looking worried and ordered them downstairs, then corralled the ones from the back room into the main shop.

“Right, everybody listen up! The archangel Michael is on the roof and Aziraphale and Maltha are trying to talk him out of killing all of us. If anyone wants to jump ship, turn around and run out the door now.  No judgement.”

Although everyone had an intense expression terror on their faces, nobody moved.  He honestly hadn’t expected that.  Maybe they were more dedicated to this than he had thought. 

“We follow Aziraphale!” said one, and Crowley thought it was the same demon from the day before and she just had an annoying habit of proclaiming her loyalty at every opportunity.

“Right, in that case, everybody get in a line and stand at attention.  Do _not_ make any sudden movements around Michael.”

“He’s coming down here?” said someone with horror.

“Maybe.  Just do what we tell you.”

They formed a line and stood up ramrod straight.  Crowley ran out of time to figure out what else he could do before he heard Aziraphale’s voice on the stairs, purposefully loud.

“…I assure you they’re very well behaved.  There’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

Aziraphale appeared on the stairs with Michael behind him, the archangel’s heavy armor clinking with each step.

The demon closest to Crowley started to tremble noticeably.  “Keep still,” he hissed, but he was having trouble steadying his own hands.

No demon was comfortable around Michael, the same way no human would be comfortable around a large predator like a shark, or a bear, or a lawyer.  The archangel eyed the line of demons like a buffet as he stopped in front of them, his hand still on the hilt of his sword.

Maltha was directly behind him, her beady eyes fixed on him with anger, her snaggle-toothed sneer practically daring him to try something.  She had not materialized a weapon, but her facial expression alone looked like it could set someone on fire.

“Hello there,” said Michael, leaning in towards the demon on the end, who recoiled.

“Michael,” said Victoria sharply.

“What?” he said, and Crowley couldn’t tell if he was being cruel or was genuinely too stupid to understand why the demons might be afraid of him.  “I’m just…saying hello.”

Michael’s sword made a dangerous _shing_ as it edged out of its scabbard.

“Michael, I told you, you can’t kill them,” said Aziraphale.

The sword came all the way out, and the tip plunged into the floorboards with a _bang_.  Every demon in the room flinched, except for Maltha, who let out a low growl.

“I can’t leave you in a building full of demons, Aziraphale.”

“They are under _my_ control, Michael.  They are loyal to me.”

“I don’t know if I believe you, principality.  Demons don’t obey orders given by angels.”

Aziraphale, who was doing a bang-up job of hiding his nervousness, turned to the line of demons. “I’ll show you.  You there.”

The demon he pointed to, who Crowley remembered was named Oryss, also did an admirable job of not showing she was on the verge of passing out from fear.  “Yes, Lord?”

“Stand on your head.”

Oryss obediently edged around the other demons and the angels to a clear space.  Her cloven hooves tapped on the wall as she inverted herself, her arms trembling with the effort.

Aziraphale turned to look at Michael stormily.  The archangel seemed more frustrated than anything.  “Aziraphale, it’s one thing to uphold a deal with a demon for the sake of keeping your word, but this is _quite_ another.  You can’t seriously think you’re the leader of your own legion now.”

Aziraphale found himself growing increasingly defensive of his “legion,” and it finally occurred to him why: These demons were Crowley, all of them, to a man.  Rejecting them would be like saying Crowley couldn’t be good enough because he was a demon, when these demons clearly all showed the same traits that made Aziraphale fall in love with him in the first place.

A will to question.  A softness they did not want to show.  A sharp curiosity for why things could not be better.  Fondness and a willingness to please where none was expected.  And a desire for very simple mercy and safety.

Michael’s sword scraped along the ground as he moved down the line with an agitated gait.  Everyone in the room was admirably still.  Oryss’s calmness was especially impressive, considering she could hear that fearsome weapon but could only see the plaster in front of her face.

Even Crowley was beginning to fear for his safety at this point.  He had a suspicion that any favours he had been done were exceptions that he should not expect to be repeated.

“Michael,” said the dark-skinned angel next to Michael.  Aziraphale recognized him: Angelo, the angel who always seemed to be 1) at Michael’s side, and 2) incredibly exasperated because of that fact.  “This would be a senseless fight.  There’s no reason we can’t pull back.”

“There are no senseless fights,” said Michael with a sneer. 

Angelo seemed disheartened by his response.  “Michael, we don’t _need_ to—”

“But we _can._ ” 

“Michael, do you remember the snake?” said Angelo.  “And what you told me?”

Aziraphale squinted at Crowley, confused.  Crowley felt sweat roll down his neck, unsure of how _he_ enteredthe equation.

Michael seemed frustrated and squeezed the hilt of his sword.  “You still remember that?  That was _so long ago._ ”

Victoria finally pushed her way to the front.  She faced Aziraphale and jerked her thumb to the back room.  “Aziraphale, can I talk to you in private?”

“No, I don’t think you can,” said Aziraphale hotly.  “I don’t think one should leave Michael alone in a room full of demons who wish to keep their heads.”

“ _Fine,_ then, Aziraphale, just listen.  Crowley has proven himself safe to be around by now. But there are too many demons here to be reasonably safe.”  She glanced at Maltha.  “We’re here now, so you don’t need them for protection, if that’s why you brought them here in the first place.  You should send them away.”

 _Or let them be killed_ was the implied ending to that sentence. Victoria tactfully didn’t say it aloud, maybe because Maltha’s infuriated and bloodthirsty gaze had shifted to her.

“No,” said Aziraphale. “They’ve sworn their loyalty and service to me, and I’ve already accepted it.  If you want to go back to Heaven, that’s fine by me.  You don’t have to stay here.”

There was suddenly a very long _mrrrroow_ that halted all conversation.

“What was that?  Was that a cat?” said Crowley.

“Come back!” said Beth’s voice from the back room.  A black and white cat scuttled out, the tags on its collar jingling as it picked its way through the crowd.

“What is that?” Michael gasped, slamming his sword back into its sheath.  

The cat glanced up at him with a needy expression, its tail swishing. Michael put his hands on either side of his face.  “I’ve never seen anything so delightful.  I must touch it.”

The cat trotted forwards, nudging the greaves on his legs with its cheek.  Michael emitted an inhuman sound, and the cat looked up at him, alarmed.  

He picked it up.  It did not seem pleased about that.

“You’re holding it wrong,” said Aziraphale.

“Well, how are you supposed to hold it?”

“I don’t know, but not like _that_.”

Beth appeared, squeezing between two angels that glared at her as she did so.  “’Scuse me,” she said in that tone people use when they really mean “excuse _you._ ” 

“It’s a cat,” she said as she neared Michael.  “I found it wandering around.”

“Wandering around? What, in the shop?” said Aziraphale.

She nodded.  “You’re doing it wrong,” Beth said, and reached out and rudely plucked the cat from the hands of Heaven’s greatest warrior. “You’re supposed to support their feet.”

Michael seemed disappointed to have it taken away from him, and he held his arms out hoping to have it back.  “I didn’t know.  I’ve never seen one before.”

“How could you have never—Oh, you’re not a human either, are you?” she said, keeping the cat in her own arms.  “You must be an angel, then, what with the shining armor and thirst for justice and stick up your—”

“All right, Beth, that’s quite enough,” said Maltha, who must have been the one being quoted there.

“Let me hold it,” said Michael.  “I promise I’ll do it right this time.”

“Hmmm,” said Beth. “All right. I’ll give it back.   _If_ you promise not to kill anyone in the shop.”

Michael’s gaze swung around to the nervous demons around him, then back to the cat, conflict apparent on his face.

Beth scratched the cat’s chin, and its eyes squinted.  It began to purr.

“All right,” said Michael. “Just give it to me.” 

Beth passed the cat back. It still didn’t seem happy and squirmed against Michael’s armor, but the archangel’s eyes were sparkling and he held it fast.  “What a splendid creature.  To whom does it belong?”

No one answered him. Michael’s hands played at the tags. “Abraxas,” he said.  “It says it belongs to Abraxas on the tag.”

One demon in the lineup seized with panic, then realized she had given herself away.  She fell to her knees.  “It’s my cat, sir, please don’t hurt her.”

“You brought a cat into the shop?” said Aziraphale, astonished that no one had noticed.  “When?”

“Just last night, lord. I’m sorry, I know I should have asked first, but it was cold and I didn’t want to leave her out.  I had her under control until we had the emergency. Please don’t hurt her.  I can put her back outside.”

“What’s its name?” said Michael, still holding the unhappy cat.

“Mittens.”

“Mittens!” said Victoria. “Name it yourself, did you?”

“No, ma’am,” said Abraxas, hiding her face in her hands.  “The volunteers at the shelter name them.  I got her as a kitten.  Please don’t hurt her.”

“For goodness sake, Michael,” snapped Aziraphale as the cat let out an irritated _mrrrrow_.  “Put it down if you’re not going to do it right.”

Michael got a sour look on his face, and the cat leapt from his arms as he loosened his grip.  It trotted up to Abraxas, who was still kneeling on the floor, and trilled.  Abraxas scratched its head, then looked up at Michael, her fearful expression returning as the archangel’s boots thumped towards her.

Michael stopped, looming over Abraxas, who drew the cat underneath of her and cowered.

Beth exploded into rage, leaping between the demon and the archangel and shoving one pointing finger into Michael’s face.  “What did you just say five seconds ago? Huh?  Don’t touch her.”

“How dare you speak to an archangel that way?” said Angelo.  “You’re just a human!”

“Well _excuse me_ if I’m not in awe of your very presence,” said Beth.  “Y’all are certainly full of yourselves, aren’t you?  Why don’t you get out of here?”

“Any of us could strike you down in an instant,” said Angelo.  “You’re seriously not afraid of us?”

Beth crossed her arms, scowling.

“Ha!” said Michael. “I’ve never met anyone so bold! It’s cute.”

He slapped her on the back, which seemed more painful than probably intended because of the relative size of Michael’s hand and Beth’s back.  She angrily tried to hide the cough that resulted. 

Finally, Michael snorted and spun around.  “Victoria, Angelo, come on, let’s go back to the roof.  Aziraphale, if you want to play house with a crowd of demons, go ahead. We’ll hang around until it blows up in your face.”

They all held their breath until the last of the warrior angels disappeared back up the stairs, the sound of their armor clanking fading into silence.

Aziraphale let out a relieved breath.

“My lord?” said Oryss, strained, still holding her pose against the wall.

“Goodness, dear girl, you can stop that now!” said Aziraphale, walking over and helping her down. “Thank you,” he whispered to her. “You did very well.”

Crowley looked around at the demons, who were all damp with buckets of sweat.  “You _all_ did very well.”

“Hail Aziraphale!” said that same vocal demon.  But no one else took the cry up, mute with shot nerves.

“Thank you, lord,” said Oryss as Aziraphale let go of her hand.  

He looked up in surprise to see the demons all crowding around him.

“Lord Aziraphale, that was amazing!  I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Michael like that!”

“I never thought I’d get that close to an archangel and live.”

“Thank you, master.”

“Er,” said Aziraphale, unsure of what to say.  “Yes, yes, well it wouldn’t do to have a fight break out in the bookshop, would it? And make sure you thank Beth as well.”

Aziraphale took count of the demons to make sure they were all there.  Everyone seemed to be present and accounted for…except for Maltha.  He worriedly looked to the staircase.

* * *

“Victoria.”

Victoria’s heart seized as the infernal voice spat out her name.  She froze, the rest of the group disappearing ahead of her as they filed out the window to the fire escape.

She turned.  The archdemon Maltha was standing amidst Crowley and Aziraphale’s earthly belongings, looking at her like a hawk.

Being addressed by an archdemon by name set her on edge; her hand crept towards the hilt of her sword.

“I don’t want any trouble, Maltha.”

“Neither do I.  Which is why I wanted to bring something to your attention. Despite what you lot may think, I _can_ best Michael in battle.”

Victoria did not believe her, but she had no intention of calling the bluff.  She kept her hand on her sword, silently begging Maltha not to start anything after they had so narrowly avoided a fight earlier.  “And?”

“These demons represent something greater than the petty fight between Heaven and Hell.  They’ve learned free will.  They’re of the _Earth,_ just like Aziraphale and Crowley.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean.  My point is they’re not replaceable, power. “

“Do you mean to threaten me? Michael was the one who cast Satan out of Heaven.  I’m not afraid of you.”  This last part was a brazen lie.

“Satan only survived to rule Hell because he placated _me_ , girl.”  Maltha leaned in, and Victoria could see the details in her bloodshot eyes and the points of her fangs.  “Keep those angels under control.  You don’t want to see what happens if they hurt any of these demons.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Victoria swallowed despite herself.  She was only a power, and this archdemon’s aura was powerful enough to match Michael’s, and it felt like it was suffocating her.  “I don’t want bloodshed any more than you do.  I don’t think this is an appropriate use of Michael’s abilities.”

“Then I think you all should leave.”

Michael had a nose for trouble he would find entertaining, and the pair responsible for Satan’s death would be sure to attract even more attention.  Victoria knew him.  He would stay right here until he got the blood he was after.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

The feathery crest on Maltha’s head rose faintly.  “Then I suggest you take my advice to make sure things stay peaceable.”

Maltha trundled out without a backwards glance.  Victoria thought the conversation could have gone better, but it definitely could have gone worse as well. 


	4. It’s Like a Big Sleepover!  But With a Higher Chance of Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158493091550/aziraphales-legion-part-4-its-like-a-big

Aziraphale awoke the next morning to the smell of smoke.

“Hm—what?” he said, levering himself out of sleep and out of bed.  “What?  What? Is something burning?”

Crowley was upright and sleepy beside him, hair ruffled.  He looked like he might prefer burning to getting out of bed.

Aziraphale grabbed his hand. “Come on!”

Aziraphale dragged him out of the bedroom and into the hall, which was hazy.  The smoke seemed to be coming from the flat next door.  The two of them followed the trail into the kitchen.

They peeked in.  Beth was at the hob, desperately trying to wave away the smoke it was producing.

“Beth!” said Aziraphale.

“Ah!” said Beth, whirling around.  “Oh, Aziraphale!  Oh, sorry.”

She turned the hob off and kept waving in a futile attempt to dissipate the smoke.

“Is everything quite all right?” said Aziraphale.

“Yes, sorry.  God, sorry,” she said, pans and dishes clanking as she bustled about the kitchen.  “I didn’t want to wake anyone up, but the kitchenette in the shop was so small and the one in the apartment looked bigger, so I…god, sorry, this is a mess.”

“What happened?” said Crowley, eyeing the blackened mess on the hob.

Beth looked exasperated and bewildered, a spatula in one hand and a clean pan in the other.  Her apologetic shrug was the only explanation she offered.

“Cooking some breakfast?” said Crowley.

“I think technically I’m the only one here who needs to eat,” said Beth.  “Otherwise I would have maybe saw if we wanted to all get breakfast together or…”  She disappeared behind the refrigerator door.  “Would you like some?  I went to the corner store and bought one of those big crates of eggs.”

“Sure,” said Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered harshly.  “Don’t treat Maltha’s consort like a personal servant.”

“She offered,” Aziraphale sniped back.  “It would have been rude to refuse.”

“What about you, Crowley?” said Beth.  She shut the fridge door with her foot and nonchalantly slid the pan containing the burnt remains of her first attempt at breakfast into a sink full of soapy water.

“Um…sure,” said Crowley.

The two sat at the table as Beth began.  “Y’all want your eggs scrambled or dippy?” she said, cracking one into the pan.

Aziraphale looked at her strangely.  “Want them scrambled or…?”

“Scrambled?  All right, then,” said Beth, not looking at him. “Shame, too, that one came out unbroken.”

Thankfully, the cooking went off without any smoke alarms this time.  Aziraphale looked over at the entrance to the kitchen and saw a demon with dark, blotchy skin crouching by the doorway, watching Beth with inexplicable jealously plastered on her face.

“Oryss?” said Crowley beside him when he also noticed the demon.  “Is something wrong?”

Oryss skittered out of sight without answering.  Crowley sipped some orange juice contemplatively.

“There we go,” said Beth, sliding them some omelets.  “These ones don’t look too bad.”

“Thank you, Beth,” said Aziraphale.  “Will Maltha be joining us?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” said Beth.  “She doesn’t really eat much, to be honest.”

“Really?” said Crowley. “She seemed to enjoy it well enough when she was with us.”

“I mean she does _sometimes,_ but not as often as I do.  I don’t think she likes it very much.  She only does it when she thinks something looks _really_ tasty.  God, does she _drink_ , though.”  Beth speared her omelet and began to nibble it on the end of her fork.

“So tell me, if you don’t mind,” Aziraphale began.  “What is the secret for a human to convince an archdemon they’re worth their attention?”

Crowley thought it might have been a rude question to ask, but Beth didn’t seem to mind.  “I mean…” she began.  “I wonder that myself, sometimes.  Afraid she’ll get bored of me.  Just between you and me.”  She leaned in to continue in a whisper.  “I think when we first met, she thought I was cute in the same way that you think a clumsy puppy is cute, not the way you think an attractive person is cute.”  She put her fork down.  “But it’s been changing.  She’s obviously a bit lonely.”

“Did she tell you about us?” said Crowley.

“Oh absolutely.  She wouldn’t shut up about you two.  I kept telling her we ought to go back and meet you again, but she didn’t want to.  I think she doesn’t like feeling inexperienced compared to you two.  Like it’s intimidating.”

“What?   _Us_ intimidating?” said Crowley.

“Yeah.  She insisted she be more experienced about how things on Earth work before going back to you.  That’s what she was deadset on doing, learning as much as possible. Wouldn’t stop for anything, not even other demons.”

“…other demons?”

“Hell sent a few messengers to try and get ahold of her.  I actually started to feel bad for the things.  She always bashed their heads in.  Those must have been to try and get her involved in the war, right?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Aziraphale.

Beth nodded, her mouth full. “Figured.  Wouldn’t let them get a word in until that one that told us Satan himself was dead.  He is, dead, isn’t he?  The devil.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.

“Crazy stuff.”  Beth took a swig of orange juice.

“How long were you two travelling together?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, a while,” said Beth vaguely.

“Then how did you meet?” said Aziraphale.

Beth’s expression froze behind her glass, like a deer caught in headlights.  “Uh…”

“Go ahead and tell them, Beth!” said Maltha’s disembodied voice from the next room.  “Tell them how we met while you were trying to get laid.”

Aziraphale was not sure whether to be more shocked by the content of Maltha’s statement or how she had phrased it.  Beth flushed as red as a beet.

“Oh, hey!” said Beth, slamming her glass down and conveniently changing the topic. “Aziraphale, I forgot to tell you that when we came back from the store, I let someone into the shop.”

“Hm?” said Aziraphale. “What?  Who?  Angel or demon?”

“Human.”

“You let a _human_ into the shop?” exclaimed Aziraphale.

As if on cue, the bell on the front door tinkled faintly from downstairs, and several voices exploded into shouts.  Aziraphale vacated the kitchen at once, hustling down the stairs and into the main shop.

Botis, that demon who kept trying to watch over Aziraphale in his sleep, was the epicenter of this hubbub. Victoria stood among the bookshelves with her sword drawn on him, and he had his own up and ready to counter. Several angels and demons were scattered around nearby, shouting at each other.

“Everyone!” Aziraphale yelled, wading into the crowd between the two combatants.  “Everyone, quiet please!  What’s going on?  I’ll have none of this!”

“Aziraphale,” said Victoria. “This demon tried to attack a human.”

“I did not!” said Botis. “On my honour, I did not attack anyone.”

“An honourable demon, now there’s a joke,” said Victoria.  

“Both of you, put your swords away, now,” Aziraphale commanded with as much force as he could.

Botis sheathed his. Victoria merely lowered hers. Botis did not look happy about that and crossed his arms.

“Aziraphale, you can’t expect me to stand around while a demon attacks a human,” said Victoria. “That’s what warriors are _for_.”

“I did not attack anyone,” Botis insisted, nostrils flaring.

“All right, tell me what happened from the beginning,” said Aziraphale.

“I heard the bell on the front door ring,” said Victoria.  “So I came out, and when I did I saw this brute getting ready to attack a human woman who was by the counter.  So naturally I drew my sword and told him to stand down.”

“That’s not what happened,” huffed Botis under his breath.

“And then the human fled, unharmed.”

“Botis?” said Aziraphale. “I told everyone they were not to harm humans.”

Botis side-eyed Victoria resentfully.  “I was not going to _harm_ the human.  I was just standing guard in the flat, when I heard the bell ring.  So I came down, and when I did I saw this human rifling through your belongings. So I used a little tactical intimidation to preserve my lord’s autonomy over his personal possessions.”

“What?” said Crowley, feeling lost.

“Tactical intimidation?” said Victoria.  “You had your sword out!  You were ready to behead her!”

“I didn’t have my sword out until you came into the room with yours!”

“What was she trying to take?” said Aziraphale.

Botis pointed to the counter, where a volume of writings by Mark Twain sat.  Aziraphale suddenly remembered it was a book he had set aside for a customer before all this had started.  She must have come to try and pick it up.

He could not bring himself to be mad at Botis.  Drawing his sword on customers trying to buy his books was what Aziraphale really wanted to do, deep down.

He sighed.  “Botis, thank you for trying to protect me, but I don’t think it’s strictly necessary at this point.”

“Oh.”  Botis shuffled his feet.  “Well, if you would give me some more specific orders…”

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “Botis, how about this?  I don’t think it’s a good idea for customers to be coming and going with everything that’s happening in the shop.  For now, you can keep people out.”  

Botis beamed and saluted him.  Aziraphale thought privately that Botis’s face alone would probably be enough to scare most humans away from the shop.

“All right.  Er, run along then, or something,” said Aziraphale.

Botis marched away and stood by the door.

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale. “May I talk to you, please?”

They moved into the back room.  Aziraphale had to shoo away some demons that had been loitering on the couch.

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale tersely.  “What are you all still doing here?  I thought for sure you would have left by morning.”

Victoria grimaced and shrugged helplessly.

“I thought I made it clear Michael isn’t welcome to kill the demons here.  He still wants to stick around after that?”

The stairs creaked, and Aziraphale turned to see Beth inserting herself into their circle. “That’s Michael, then, is it?  The archangel?  Heaven’s mightiest warrior?”

“Beth,” said Crowley. “You yelled at him yesterday without even knowing who he was?”

Beth made a noncommittal gesture.  “Well, if he was an angel I figured he wouldn’t be allowed to hurt me.”

Beth was exactly right. An angel killing a human would be a very grave offense.  Death was the only one allowed to take humans to the afterlife because he knew the right time.  But her statement irritated Aziraphale, who thought she should have been properly afraid of Michael.  “I _suppose_.”

“But that’s him, right?”

“Yes,” Crowley answered her.

“That’s so cool,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“It’s not _cool_ ,” Crowley said.  “He’s hanging about looking for an excuse to kill us all!”

“Oh, is that why he’s hanging around?” said Beth.  “I thought he just wanted to have a good time.”

They all looked at her, waiting for the punchline, but they all realized simultaneously that she was serious.

“No!” said Victoria. “Michael doesn’t hang about for frivolous things like that!”

“Well, have you looked at him?” said Beth, indignant.  “When I went up on the roof he looked like he was having a grand old time!  It seems pretty obvious to me that he’s only staying here because he enjoys it!”

“You’re an awfully precocious human, aren’t you?” said Victoria hotly.  “Maybe you’d do well not to forget your place.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” said Beth.  “Tell me he’s not just here because he likes it.”

“You think you know more than me, you arrogant child,” said Victoria.

“I’m not a child.  And maybe I do know more than you.”

“You might as well be a child compared to me.  And you don’t.”

“I know more about Maltha than you do.”

“You certainly don’t know more about Hell’s lords than I do.”

“What’s her favourite colour?”

Victoria looked like she wanted to hit Beth.  “What?”

“Maltha’s favourite colour. What is it?”

“Why does that matter?” stormed Victoria.

“It matters.  Everyone has a favourite colour.”

“I don’t have a favourite colour.”

“You do.”  Beth’s expression changed from defensive to knowing delight.  “But you haven’t thought about it because no one’s ever asked you.  Is that it?”

“What?”

“Because you’re not supposed to have opinions, is that it?  So you don’t think it’s important.”

Victoria spluttered at her, speechless.  When she finally answered, it was to say, “Don’t be stupid.”

She stormed off. Aziraphale and Crowley watched her back, incredulous at the exchange.  Beth turned back towards them, rubbing her neck.  “Ah…think I might have pissed her off a little.”

“It’s not hard to get those types pissed off at you,” said Crowley.  “Don’t worry about it too much.”

“Beth,” said Aziraphale. “You said you thought Michael was staying here just because he enjoys being down here?”

“That’s what it looked like to me.”

“That can’t be right,” said Crowley.  

Aziraphale looked at the sigils on the shop front, which barred the entry of all demons except those who loved Earth.  And he wondered what effect they would have Michael had he been a demon.  “You don’t think…?”

“Him?” said Crowley. “There’s no way _Michael_ would love the Earth.  Right?”

They looked at each other doubtfully.

“Why not?” said Beth. “I mean, if Maltha could do it, why not an archangel?”

“You don’t understand,” Crowley told her.  “Michael is a weapon specially for Armageddon.  He’s _created_ to lay waste to the Earth after the antichrist turns it into a battlefield.”

“But Armageddon was cancelled, wasn’t it?” said Beth.  “That’s what Maltha told me.  What’s Michael for if it doesn’t happen?”

“I…I don’t know,” said Aziraphale.  “He does oversee the warriors, but he himself hasn’t done much since the rebellion at the beginning.  It’s just sort of one of those givens nobody ever questioned.”

Beth held her hands out. “So he’s just…hanging in limbo? Doesn’t that sound stressful?”

“Look,” said Aziraphale. “You’re speculating about things beyond you.  You have no idea what you’re talking about.  Why don’t you leave this to us?”

Beth crossed her arms, looking offended.

“Er,” said Aziraphale. “All I’m saying is we’ve all known each other for millennia and you’ve been with Maltha for, what?  A few—”

“All right,” said Beth. “Whatever, you ass.  Since you obviously know so much more than me, I’ll leave you alone.”

She stalked away.

“You shouldn’t be rude to her,” said Crowley.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said.  “It just came out a bit… er…”

Crowley sighed. “Whatever, angel.  But have you ever considered that maybe she’s right?”

Aziraphale looked worried. “I don’t know what might happen if she is.”

* * *

It was at this point that things became less tense and more awkward.  The angels all stayed on the roof the first day, but after a while they began to wander around the shop and the flat as well.  When Aziraphale would ask them what they were doing, they would shrug and say they were bored.  Usually he believed them.  They did not seem smart enough to have any sort of ulterior motives, and being bored in the absence of violence was one of Michael’s primary character traits, so it was logical to assume it extended to his subordinates.  

They also kept using the fire escape through his and Crowley’s bedroom window to come to and from the shop.  This went on until Crowley put his foot down and snapped that they needed to take the fire escape all the way down to the ground floor and then circle around to come in through the front door.  He pulled the window shut and locked it, which of course wouldn’t really stop anything, but it was a token gesture and made him feel better.

Even though they were unethically using the flat next door, it was still very crowded in the shop. Crowley encouraged the other demons to go loiter outside sometimes, but then he remembered he had parked the Bentley in front of the shop and ran outside to move it out of their reach.*

*Crowley would never know what an opportunity he had missed.  One of the demons in the shop, a sporty lass named Lirach, was also a car nut and actually had a 1932 Cadillac V-16 locked in her garage at home.  If he had left the Bentley outside, she would have struck up a conversation with him about it and offered to let him take hers for a spin at a later date.

Perhaps it was the fact that both an archangel and an archdemon were planted there, but the anticipated demonic hordes coming to claim Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s heads to secure the throne of Hell did not seem to materialize.  Michael could be heard stomping around and huffing under his breath that he was told archdemons were after Aziraphale and where were they? When were they coming?  And Angelo would pat him comfortingly and remind him it was a good thing they weren’t constantly under assault, which Michael did not quite seem to believe.

Maybe they had decided it was strategically better to fight Michael and Maltha separately.  Maybe they were too scared to try.  Maybe they were lurking out of sight, waiting for the opportunity to attack.  Maybe they just did not know where Aziraphale was or did not think he was worth the effort. He did not know.

Part of Aziraphale wished that Kabata would show up again, just so he could see the look on his face.  But they were secure for now.  

Botis took it upon himself to patrol.  He flew in circles around the block, which was the furthest Aziraphale had given him permission to go.  Since he had cloaked himself from humans he felt all right waving his sword about as he did so, talking to nonexistent enemies and imagining how he would catch anyone with malicious intents before they could get close to his lord.  He would fantasize about how he would thoroughly dominate them and earn congratulations from both Aziraphale and his right hand demon, Crowley.

The only problem was one of Michael’s warriors also patrolled, and their paths crisscrossed each other.  They ended up spending more time watching each other and subtly displaying their weapons** than watching for potential enemies.***

**Botis also showed off his tusks, which he felt proud of because the angel did not have anything equivalent to show.  He didn’t realize the angel just rolled her eyes when he did this.

***Although one could argue they _were_ potential enemies.

It was also during this period that Aziraphale became aware that these demons had discovered the “pleasures of the world” just as Crowley had, because they were gradually starting to fail in hiding it as time wore on.  Aziraphale found a demon standing sentry in the middle of the night and commented that he looked exhausted.  The demon replied that he had let his corporation get used to regular sleep, but that he was trying to break it to serve him more effectively. Aziraphale, baffled, told him that if he wanted to sleep, he could use the couch in the back room, or use the furniture in the flat, or take a sleeping bag to the floor for goodness’s sake, since they could take turns keeping watch instead of forcing themselves to stay up all night.  The demon had looked supremely relieved and had disappeared immediately, presumably to pass out.

Another time, when everything was still and quiet and those who wanted sleep were indulging in it, Crowley had heard a faint voice singing in Japanese accompanied by cartoony sound effects.  When he peeked around the corner to investigate, he saw one of the demons curled up in the corner around an iPhone.  Crowley was not sure whether to be more offended by his taste in anime or by the fact that he was watching it dubbed.  The demon offered a vague apology that his headphones had broken, all the while keeping his eye on the screen, where a woman with breasts the size of watermelons was doing something to a blushing teenage boy with blue hair. It was only then that Crowley remembered that this was the demon who had tried to claim during their initial interview that his name was Naruto, which Aziraphale helpfully had informed him afterwards was Gaelic in origin and a fierce-sounding name for a demon.  

Admittedly, Crowley had changed his own name because he liked the sound of it, but there was a limit to the shenanigans he would tolerate.

Crowley also caught another demon raiding the fridge in Aziraphale’s kitchenette.  She was almost as rotund as Aziraphale himself, and the fact that all Aziraphale’s sweets had disappeared might have explained why.

It was a pity it had been Aziraphale and not Crowley to catch the demon with hyena ears trying to sneak into the bathroom with a cucumber.  Crowley would have realized right away what she had been about to do and saved everyone the embarrassment of her having to say, “I was going to masturbate, lord,” in front of everyone within earshot when she could offer no culinary explanation for it.

Crowley wanted to tell them all they were being embarrassing and uncool.  But Aziraphale had caught him talking to his plants before, and there was little that could top that.

A few days after the arrival of Michael, Aziraphale turned to see Oryss and another demon approaching him. The other demon, whose name was Adramelech, had iridescent feathers sticking out from his head at odd angles, wore the brightest pair of purple pants Crowley had ever seen, and was adorned with so much jewelry that he jangled when he walked.  Crowley looked from Aziraphale to Oryss**** to Adramelech, trying to decide who looked the gayest, and wondering if he walked over there it would cause a reaction and create some sort of flamboyant singularity that would destroy them all.

****She was wearing flannel and a snapback cap.

Adramelech admitted to being the one who had cleaned up the back room and re-upholstered the couch, which Aziraphale had been wondering about ever since he had come downstairs to find it pristine and tailored.  He and Oryss wanted permission to go to the corner store.  Adramelech was fussing about the curtains in the flat and wanted to replace them.  Oryss shyly said that she wanted to cook Aziraphale and his right-hand demon dinner, and needed ingredients.

Aziraphale gave them permission, and the pair ran off giddily.  Aziraphale was concerned when he later overheard Angelo telling Victoria that one of the angels had been sent to keep an eye on them and make sure they stayed in line.  But when he saw Oryss and Adramelech returning laden with shopping bags, the warrior angel was hovering mere feet above them, laughing and joking with them.

Aziraphale tried to continue his reading as he normally did, but he found himself continuously interrupted. One particularly awkward encounter came when a demon languidly stretched himself on Aziraphale’s desk over his open book, running one hand down his own mostly-naked body and asking if Aziraphale liked what he saw.  When Aziraphale finally realized the demon was trying to “pleasure” him, he politely told him that he wasn’t interested.  The demon had then muttered, “I wouldn’t have guessed…” and exited, returning a few minutes later as female.

“That’s not what I meant!” Aziraphale had shouted, then rubbed his temples.  “I don’t know if that’s what your previous master had asked of you, but could you….I don’t know, bring me some cocoa instead?”

When the requested cocoa was provided, Aziraphale was still exasperated and looked very hard for something to be angry about, and snapped that he could make his own cocoa.

Things were, generally, much more peaceable than one might anticipate.  The initial clash between Victoria and Botis was not repeated, maybe because Botis had taken to sitting in the shop window and sneering at passersby to discourage them from coming into the shop during daylight hours when he was not patrolling.

The angels and demons crowding the shop found ways to occupy themselves, sometimes with the volumes on the shelves.  Aziraphale once saw one of Michael’s warriors holding an encyclopedia in her hands upside-down, and suspected she did not actually know how to read.  The next shelf over, he found one of the demons squatting with one of the easiest books in his collection—a primary school reader he had forgotten he owned--and suspected he did not know how to read either. He was tempted to suggest they work together, but the atmosphere didn’t seem right and he didn’t think the suggestion would be well-received.

One demon brought out a square gaming device from somewhere and plugged it into Aziraphale’s ancient TV, which he was sure did not previously have the right knobs and holes to connect to such a piece of technology.  A few angels that had been loitering nearby watched this with curiosity, and then did not move when he played some war simulator in their view for the next four hours.  All it would have taken to get them to disperse would be one person to ask them, “Having fun?” And they would have snarled that they didn’t have time to be distracted by such petty matters and scattered.  But nobody did, and they looked fascinated by it.  The next day when the device was idle and unoccupied, two of them could be seen trying to figure out how to get it to work, with limited success.

The underlying tension was there, though.  The room cleared of any wayward demons when Michael entered it.  The same happened for celestial beings when Maltha moved around. Beth seemed to get along splendidly with everyone except those who tried to be condescending to her.  Mittens was the only one who was truly tolerated by all, even the heavenly warriors who did not want to admit she was cute.

Even with the possibility of infighting, Aziraphale had never felt safer since the first attempt at Armageddon.  There was a sense of independence he had not felt in a long time.  Of self-determination. He was not sure where it had come from.  


	5. Cruel Masters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158564917580/aziraphales-legion-part-5-cruel-masters

“Good morning.”

Crowley peered at him from one eye slit open.  “It’s not morning yet.”

Aziraphale reached out and combed his fingers through his hair.  “It’s 7AM.”

“That’s practically midnight.”  He squeezed his eyes shut and snuggled into Aziraphale’s chest.  “It’s not time to get up yet.”

“You silly serpent.”

“Come on, Aziraphale. We’ve barely gotten any time to ourselves lately, with everyone lurking around.  They won’t question it if we lie in bed for an extra hour.”

Aziraphale scrunched his face as he smiled at Crowley and planted a kiss on top of his head.  “Just lie here, huh?”

Crowley’s eye slid open again, and this time there was a devilish gleam in it.  “I think I’ve finally recovered from my injuries enough that vigorous activity is on the table again.”

“Oh-ho-ho.  I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean.”

Crowley slipped out from under the covers, rolling on top of Aziraphale.  “I’m sure you do, Lord Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale got a concerned look on his face.  “I’m not your lord, Crowley, surely you don’t—”

“It was supposed to be erotic,” sighed Crowley, lowering himself down so he drew tantalizingly near Aziraphale’s midsection.

“Ah.”

“Lord Aziraphale, mighty commander of the legions of the damned,” said Crowley, sliding the waist of Aziraphale’s pajamas away, exposing his pants.  He hooked them with his finger and pulled down.  “May I service you, Lord Aziraphale?”

“You’re still being erotic?”

“Blast—yes!”

“Oh.”  Aziraphale was still mostly lying down and had to crane his neck to look at Crowley, whose face was hovering teasingly close to his crotch.  Crowley was making eye contact with him without proceeding, and it was then that Aziraphale realized he had been asking in earnest.  “Yes, go ahead, dear.”

Aziraphale gasped and tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair as soon as he felt the lips sliding down his shaft.  “ _Oooohh_ …”

“Mmm…you taste good, angel…”

Aziraphale saw the other angel out of the corner of his eye a second before he heard the knock on the window.  Crowley flailed with surprise; it was a small miracle Aziraphale escaped from his jaws intact.  

Aziraphale moved to hastily cover himself as the other angel ducked into the window, looking back and forth between the two of them.  “What were you doing?”

“Playing Scrabble,” said Crowley, flushing all the way to his ears.  “What do you _think_ we were doing?  Get out!”

“Angelo told me to go find you, Aziraphale,” said the angel.  “An important message for you.  But if you’re too busy…”

Aziraphale hadn’t realized any of Michael’s angels knew how to use sarcasm.  It didn’t excuse the inordinate amount of spite in his voice, though.  Crowley pulled a pillow over his head and groaned.  “What’s the message?” said Aziraphale, diplomatically ignoring the tone.

“There’s somebody approaching the building.  They appear to be a human, but they have a hellhound.  No sign of their intentions.”

“Thank you.   _Please_ just go.”

The angel gave them one last strange look before exiting back up the fire escape.

Crowley was still hiding his face.  Aziraphale patted his back.

“He’s going to tell everyone else and those angels are never going to respect me now,” said Crowley’s muffled voice.

Aziraphale _almost_ tried to comfort him by saying they wouldn’t have respected him regardless, but he caught himself just in time.  “I’m sure it’s not so bad.”

Crowley levered himself upright, miracling clothes out of the closet miserably.  “Come on.  I think we both know who that is.”

“Why wouldn’t he have called first?” said Aziraphale, slipping into his trousers.

“Who knows?”

Aziraphale had to use a small miracle on his corporation to will what remained of his erection away before they could go out.

They came downstairs to find exactly who they had expected: a twenty-something with blond hair and a squat, energetic terrier around his ankles.  Botis was beside him, trying his best to look menacing with his sword extended, but no one was paying attention to him, especially not his target.

Botis pushed past Adam to enter the shop as Aziraphale and Crowley came down the stairs.  “Lord!” he said, saluting.  “This human brought a hellhound here, and I tried to get him to stop, but he—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s fine, thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, waving a dismissal.  “Good work.”

Dog bolted into the shop as soon as the door was open, snuffling around the bottoms of the bookshelves, looking very serious and determined.

“Adam Young!” said Aziraphale.  “My goodness, you’re much taller than I remember.”

“Aziraphale! Crowley!” said Adam, pulling them both into a hug.

They hardly ever spoke except for the occasional correspondence such as to inform him of Satan’s death, so neither of them had really assumed they were on hugging terms with him.  They were struck by how muscular his arms were, how strongly he squeezed them, and exactly how _long_ the gesture lasted….

“Good to see you, too,” said Crowley, wriggling out of his grasp.  “Er, we would have expected you to call before showing up…”

“Demons broke my phone,” said Adam.

“Er…”

“Can I come in?  I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale.

Aziraphale led him to the back room and suddenly realized he would be old enough for alcohol now. “Would you care for some wine?  Or brandy?”

“I’ll take a beer if you’ve got any.”

Aziraphale tried not to wrinkle his nose, but it happened anyway.  He peeked his head out of the doorway and spotted Adramelech loitering nearby.

“Dear boy, would you be so kind as to bring us some drinks?  I seem to recall the refrigerator in the flat being stocked.”

Adramelech saluted and scampered upstairs.

Aziraphale withdrew to the back room and took his seat next to Crowley.  Dog’s nails tapped on the hardwood floor as he entered, his tongue lolling, looking at everyone in the room happily.  He jumped up on the couch next to Aziraphale, which the angel did not seem particularly pleased about, but not displeased enough to ask Adam to remove him.

Adramelech appeared in the doorway, handing a bottle of wine to Aziraphale and Crowley and a beer to Adam.

“Thank you,” said Adam, cracking it open.  Adramelech did not clear the room, instead standing by the couch at attention.  The flamboyant feathers on his head were raised as though in suspicion, and he clasped his hands behind his back and eyed Adam sharply. 

“Er,” said Adam.  “I see you two have made some new friends.”

“Adramelech, it’s all right. Adam is a friend of ours from a while ago.”

Adramelech’s glowing purple eyes did not leave Adam.  “I understand, Master.  Forgive me for being skeptical.  I have never met anyone with command of their own Hellhound who had not earned such a beast through extraordinary brutality.”

Dog cocked his head. Aziraphale furrowed his brow.

Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s sleeve, and when he leaned down the demon whispered rapidly into his ear, “Hellhounds are only given out to very important demons.  Remember that they’re used to cruel masters, angel.”

 _Remember that they’re used to cruel masters…_  It must be hard for any demon to look at Adam and not see his father.  Aziraphale nodded.  “Adramelech, this is Adam Young.  You might know—”

“I know who he is,” Adramelech interrupted.  “Satan’s son. The one who would have destroyed the world if you hadn’t stepped in to stop him.”

Adam looked a bit hurt. Perhaps Aziraphale should not have been shocked that _that_ was the version that had circulated among Hell.  Satan wouldn’t exactly have been eager to let everyone know his son had disobeyed him and he had, embarrassingly, been unable to discipline him. Pinning the responsibility for the failure on an angel Hell had no control over, and subsequently painting Adam as a willing participant who had been thwarted, would be convenient.

For a demon who wanted the world to keep going, the aggression suddenly made sense.  As did the overwhelming loyalty and praise for Aziraphale.

“Adramelech, Adam’s on our side.  He didn’t want the apocalypse to happen any more than us.  In fact, _he’s_ the one who stopped it, not me.”

“Well, you two helped a _little_ ,” muttered Adam from over his beer.

“Please don’t be rude to him.  He’s our guest.”

Adramelech ruffled his feathers, looking conflicted.  “I apologize. I trust you, Master.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling at him.  He turned back towards Adam, subconsciously patting Crowley’s hand as he did so.  “So, what brings you here, Adam?”

“Hell,” he said, taking another swig of beer.  “Literally. Aziraphale, a group of demons showed up on my doorstep.  I was just barely able to get away, thanks to Dog here.  Good dog, he is.”

Dog barked.

“And they broke your phone?” said Crowley.

“Well, not on purpose, but as a civilian casualty, you know?”  He sipped again.  “And it’s not like there’s payphones around anymore, and it took me forever to get here because I couldn’t call for an Uber.  But I knew I should come straight here ASAP.  Not like my Mum and Dad are going to be much help with this.”

“Do you know what they wanted?” said Crowley, who had a suspicion.

“Dunno,” said Adam. “I gave my powers up after that first time, so it’s not like they could have wanted me to do anything for them. Revenge maybe?  But why wait so long?”

“Maybe they didn’t know you gave your powers up,” said Aziraphale.  “Hell is in the middle of a massive power struggle right now thanks to Satan’s death.”

They had called him to fill him in on his father’s death before all this, so that wasn’t a surprise. Adam nodded.  “And let me guess, they think having Satan’s son would bolster a claim to the throne?  As a sort of posthumous blessing from Satan?  Or they would want me to replace him, if they thought I still had my powers?”

“Maybe,” said Crowley. “But maybe it’s something else. An antichrist is the only way to turn Earth into the battlefield for kicking off Armageddon, and now that Satan’s out of the picture, there can’t be any more made.  You’ve just skyrocketed in value.  Any of Hell’s—or Heaven’s for that matter—factions that still want the war to happen need to get their hands on you.  Or at least they would if you could still do anything about anything.”

“Oh, goody,” said Adam, downing the rest of his alcohol in one swift motion and reaching for another on the table.  “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

Crowley said, “I think any archdemon who could manage to actually start Armageddon after it’s failed twice now would win the loyalty of all the forces that are still pushing for the war, which is a great deal of them.  The antichrist might actually be a bigger target than me and you, Aziraphale. I’m shocked it took this long for you to run into trouble.”

“Yeah, but you can’t be close behind,” said Adam.  “You killed _Satan._ Surely you’ve run into trouble already?”

“A little,” admitted Aziraphale.  “Although…that was from my former boss. So I imagine it might be more…personally motivated.”

“Your former boss?”

“The archangel Camael. Or should I say, the archdemon Kabata.”

Adam nearly did a spit-take. “Hold on, Aziraphale, your boss fell? I thought they didn’t do that anymore.”

“It’s rare.  But it’s possible.”

“He must have really fucked something up badly,” said Adam. “Was it because of what he did last time they tried Armageddon?”

“I can’t imagine what else it would be,” fretted Aziraphale. 

“So you’ve only run into trouble from someone who wants revenge on you? That seems a bit odd.”

“Maybe they’re too busy racing to get to the Antichrist,” suggested Crowley.

Adam set his can down on the table.  “That’s right.  I’m not the only antichrist, right?  I have a sibling.” 

“Yes, that was definitely mentioned in the last attempt,” said Aziraphale.  “A second antichrist.  A brother of yours, I believe.”

“He must be in trouble, too, then.  How old would he be about now?”

Crowley did some quick counting on his fingers.  “Assuming Satan went straight back down to Hell as soon as it was clear the first apocalypse failed, and immediately got busy with whatever _unfortunate_ soul is the mother of the antichrists…though who knows how the Hell that works...he would be nine or ten now.”

“That fits the timeframe Heaven had for gearing up for the war, if they were going to try it on his eleventh birthday like last time,” said Aziraphale. 

“The last we heard, the antichrist had gone to Hell and hadn’t come back up,” said Crowley. “Although it was Heaven saying that, and who knows where they got _that_ information from.” 

“Sirs,” said Adramelech, “Maltha went down to Hell to assess the situation as soon as she got word of what was happening.  She told us that the new antichrist had been under the care of the archdemon Agares, but he disappeared as soon as the fight for the throne broke out and no one has been able to track down where he went.  The most popular theory is that he got scared when order collapsed, sensed he was in danger, and slipped away from those who wanted to seize him for personal gain.  He could still be hiding somewhere in Hell, or he might have come back up to Earth.”

Crowley sighed and bottomed-up his wine glass.  “No one knows where the antichrist is, doesn’t _that_ sound familiar.”

Adam shook with suppressed laughter at that.

“We can’t let him fall into the wrong hands,” said Aziraphale.  “If the fight for the throne has re-ignited interest in starting the war, it’s imperative that we find him and bring him to our side.”

“Said _everyone_ ,” Crowley interjected.  He was already well into his second glass and seemingly determined to get drunk as quickly as possible.  “We’re not the only ones out there, Aziraphale.  I bet someone else has already got him and word just hasn’t gotten out yet.  And there’s no telling what he’s like—he may not be as _anthropophilic_ as Adam.  Maybe he _wants_ the war.”

Aziraphale considered the position this would put them in—surrounded by both angels and demons, with loyalties tangled up between Heaven and Hell for all of them….  It was even more imperative they made sure that didn’t happen now.  It wasn’t just him and Crowley anymore.  They were people counting on them, and not just scores of clueless humans this time.

“Reckon we could just take a thundergun to him,” said Adam.  

“Don’t suppose Aziraphale’s angelic morals will let him kill a child,” said Crowley, starting his third glass. “At least now that he’s given it some thought.”

They both sounded half-joking, but Aziraphale grew red, memories of Shadwell and Madam Tracy returning to him.  “I-If it’s for the greater good…”

Crowley and Adam both looked at him uncomfortably, then turned their attention towards their respective alcohol.

“Well, at any rate, without knowing the location of the new antichrist, it’s not like there’s anything we could really do,” said Aziraphale, breaking the awkward silence.  “For now it’d do to just keep ourselves safe, and keep Michael and Maltha from going at each other.  Three of Hell’s biggest targets all in one spot, plus an archdemon and an archangel, we’re bound to start attracting attention _eventually_.  We’d be lucky if the fight for Armageddon didn’t show up on our doorstep.”

“Hell’s forces must be occupied frantically searching for your brother, Adam,” said Crowley.  “Any demon worth their salt knows the best bet for securing Hell’s throne would be to get their hands on him.  But I bet as soon as he turns up, all Hell is going to break loose, literally.”

Aziraphale did not want to think about that.

“Well, it looks like you might be ready for _all Hell_ ,”said Adam.  “Who was that I saw on the roof?  He was huge.”

“Probably Michael,” said Aziraphale.  “He’s…volunteered his services in these times of trouble.”

“ _Michael?_ ” said Adam.  “Cor.”

“Why do you humans all think the most bloodthirsty angel in Heaven’s garrison is _cool_?” Crowley said, glowering.  “He’s probably going to kill us all eventually.”

“I’m not technically human,” said Adam.

“Can you do miracles?”

“Not anymore.”

“Then you’re a bloody human.”

Adam crossed his arms and sulked.

“Well, Adam Young,” said Aziraphale, standing, “you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

“You’re also welcome to run out as soon as this situation blows up in all of our faces,” muttered Crowley.

Aziraphale gave him a dirty look, then added to Adam, “Just please make sure your, ah….dog does his business outside and stays away from the books.”

The demons all thought Dog was adorable.  But upon realizing what he was and to whom he belonged, they became very cold, passive-aggressive, and uncooperative towards Adam.  Botis took to shadowing him around the shop with his sword half out of its sheath, then claiming he wasn’t doing anything when confronted about it, even when he had been standing directly behind Adam for an hour.  The first time Adam used the loo in the shop, he found himself locked inside when someone adjusted a shelf just so, and he had to wait until Dog was able to finally convey to Crowley what had happened to be released.  Conversation abruptly ceased when he entered a room, and demons cleared a space around him as though being repelled through magnetism.  Whenever he was in earshot, Abraxas would talk loudly about how she saw Mittens swipe Dog across the nose, and how the canine had been scared of her cat ever since and was skulking around the shop trying to avoid her.  Oryss made dinner for Aziraphale and Crowley, but when Aziraphale invited Adam to come along, she hurriedly informed him she had only made enough food for her master and his right-hand demon.

Adam remained his usual friendly self and tried helplessly to pacify them, without much progress.  It got so bad that Aziraphale finally had to call everyone together and explain to them the real story of what had happened at the Almostpocalypse, after which there was a great deal of awkward foot-shuffling, muttered apologies, and no more trouble. 


	6. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a sexual assault trigger warning.
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158723514860/aziraphales-legion-part-6-love

* * *

“Wake up.”

“Ngk.”

“Crowley.”

Crowley rolled over and squinted at him.  “What? Are we under attack?  Is there some pressing matter requiring our attention?”

“For once, no.”

“Then what?”

“It’s eight o’ clock. We can’t laze about in bed all day.”

Crowley moaned.  “It’s not all day,” he said, burrowing back into the covers.

“We can’t have this conversation every morning, you lazy serpent.”

Crowley knew very well that they could have this conversation every morning.  They had had it every morning since they had started sleeping in the same bed.  “You’ll have to make me get up,” he said from under his fortifications.

He was suddenly assaulted by fresh, cold air as the duvet was thrown back.  “I think I can smell something cooking, hmm?  Why don’t you go see if Oryss is making something for us? That girl is a splendid cook.”

Crowley crawled forwards. “Yes, O Lord Aziraphale.”

“Were you being erotic that time?”

“…No.”

Crowley was still half asleep, but he at least remembered to miracle a pair of cozy trousers over his pants before walking out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding on the floor. Despite Aziraphale’s admonition that they were the lazy ones, the shop was mostly still and quiet, with everyone out of sight or sleeping, with no apparent activity.  A warrior angel, out of armor and lazing about at the table by the staircase, stared at his exposed torso as he descended the stairs, but Crowley pretended it was because he was admiring his muscles.

He peeked his head into the kitchenette and saw that Oryss was in fact at the stove, a pile of cooked bacon already appearing on a plate next to her.

“Good morning, Lord Crowley!” she said to him, shaking the skillet.  “I, er…”  She beckoned him closer, and he leaned in.  “I’m making breakfast for three.  If, um, you think the antichrist would take it as an apology…”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted,” said Crowley, patting her shoulder and suppressing a yawn.  “I’ll go find him.”

He strolled out of the back room. The warrior angel who had been sitting at the table was waiting for him, blocking his way.

“Oh,” said Crowley, almost bumping into him.  “Sorry. I was just looking for Adam.  Have you seen him around?”

The angel grinned. “Come here.”

“O-okay,” said Crowley, puzzled at his tone.

Crowley followed the angel into the bookshop proper, which was mostly empty.  The warrior gestured to one of the shelves narrowly crowded against the wall, where Aziraphale kept books he especially did not want customers to find and discouraged them with the tightness of the quarters.

“Back here, then?” said Crowley, with rising unease he could not explain.

“Yes.”

Crowley ducked behind the shelf to see a figure in the crevice there, but it was not Adam.  It was the warrior angel who had caught him getting intimate with Aziraphale the day before.

Crowley turned around, only to see that the first angel had blocked his escape route.  Adrenaline flooded his system.

He made a motion to try and dart past him, but suddenly a pair of hands grabbed him from behind, wrenching him around and pushing him against the wall. The angel in front of him pressed against him and pinned him down. The other boxed him in with one arm and used his other hand to trace a line down Crowley’s chest, down his stomach…

“H-hey,” squeaked Crowley when the hand was poking into his trousers.  “Wh-What are you doing?”

“Mhmhm…I think you know what we’re doing,” murmured the angel, caressing the demon’s jaw.  Crowley squirmed and tried to pull away.

“We’ll show you a much better time than _him_ ,” said the other.  “We’re _warriors._  We’re _strong_.”

Crowley writhed again, but he found their statement was true and he could not slip out of their grasp. His eyes flared with panic as he realized what was happening.  “Hold on.”

The angel withdrew his hand from Crowley’s trousers and moved it to his own zipper, undoing it to reveal his pants.  “I bet you want to suck _my_ cock, demon, hm?”

“N-no!” said Crowley.

They both paused, as if they hadn’t expected that answer.  “What?” said one.

“Get off me!”

They both looked alarmed now.  “You don’t want to have sex with us?”

“What the b-bloody _fuck?_ No!  Why would you think that?”

They both loosened their grips, and Crowley edged away from them as far as the space would allow, sucking in deep breaths.

“I saw you with Aziraphale,” said the one angel.  “You seemed to be enjoying it, so we figured…”

“I’m _with_ Aziraphale, you bloody—fucking—”

They both furrowed their brows.  “What do you mean you’re _with_ him?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’” stuttered Crowley.  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

They were both silent for a moment. “Did…” Crowley began.  “Did you think I just had some sort of fetish for sucking angelic cock? Is that what you thought?”

They both looked vaguely ashamed.

“Oh my—You did, didn’t you? And you took that as an invitation to just help yourselves!”

The one on the left looked at him sharply, as though just noticing his anxiety for the first time. “What did you think we were going to do?”

The other angel’s face contorted into anger. “You think we’re rapists and murderers like you demons? We’re _angels._  What’s wrong with you?”

“Wh-what the Hell was I supposed to think, with the way you manhandled me against the wall?”

“Oh don’t bullshit us,” said the second angel viciously. “Everyone knows that’s how demons like it. Rough.”

“That’s how demons are, innit?” said the other.  “Always eager to fornicate?  How were we supposed to know you wouldn’t like it?”

“Are you out of your bloody minds?” Crowley yelled.

“What were you expecting, with the way you came out this morning half naked and looked at me?”

“Get out of the way,” Crowley said.

“Don’t act like this is all our fault,” the second angel growled. “You little manwhore.”

“I said get out of the way!” Crowley yelled.  “Let me out.”

The angel that had just insulted him stood where he was and seethed.  Crowley was immensely relieved when the first angel stood to one side to give him enough room to pass.  He darted out, his sweaty palm leaving a handprint on the shelf as he fled.

He went straight upstairs, heart still pounding, to find Aziraphale with Adramelech in their bedroom.

“My wardrobe is fine, dear boy,” Aziraphale was saying to the demon, who was holding a selection of clothes he had apparently been trying to convince the angel to wear.

Crowley skittered into the room and said, “We have a problem.”

“I’ll say,” said Adramelech. “Have you _seen_ the amount of tartan in his closet?”

“No, I mean a _real_ problem!”

“Has something happened?” said Aziraphale, turning away from Adramelech.

“Yes,” he said.  “The angels still don’t know we’re together.”

“What?” said Aziraphale. “Surely Victoria would have told them?”

“Apparently not!  That angel who saw us together yesterday didn’t draw the _logical_ conclusion that we’re in a relationship.  Instead, he did the mental gymnastic _around_ that conclusion to think I’ll just fuck anything that moves, including _him and his buddy._ ”

“What?” said Aziraphale stormily.  “Crowley, did they…?”

“No, but I _really_ thought they were going to for a minute.”

“Hold on,” said Adramelech with a ruffle of feathers.  “You two are together?  Like _together_ together?  Not just in cahoots, but in _each other’s_ cahoots?”

“Adramelech,” said Crowley, exasperated, “ _yes!_ What the hell did you all _think?_ ”

“Thought that Aziraphale was just very honourable,” said Adramelech, a tad embarrassed.  “With how he went into Hell after you to uphold his end of your business deal.  And how he keeps watch over you while you sleep to keep you safe.  Isn’t that how angels are?”

“We’ve kissed in front of you!”

“…thought it was a display of platonic affection between brothers-in-arms.”

“We share the same bed!”

“…thought that was due to space constraints.”

“You all kept calling me his ‘right-hand demon,’” said Crowley, reeling, “because you thought I was like…his second-in-command in a military sense?”

“Well,” said Adramelech. “I-I didn’t think you two would _actually_ …”

“Oh my _somebody,”_ said Crowley.  “The demons don’t know it either.  Aziraphale, we’re _toast_ when everybody finds out.”

“Don’t get hysterical, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, putting his hands on his shoulders.  “You don’t know that.  We don’t know how they’ll react.”

They both looked over at Adramelech, who was eyeing them with some mixture of disgust and fear.

“…Okay, maybe we need to address this right now,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley took a moment to threaten Adramelech into silence before following Aziraphale up the fire escape.

“Victoria!” hissed Crowley as they came up onto the roof.

The power turned to meet them.  “What’s wrong?  Are you all right?”

“Victoria, you didn’t tell them?” said Aziraphale in a strained whisper, with a glance at the other angels.

“Tell them what?”

“About me and Crowley being _together?_  They still don’t know?”

“That?  I didn’t think it was really important.”

“Not imp—Victoria, two of your angels took our…activities…as an invitation to stick their hands down my pants,” said Crowley.

Victoria got a horrified look on her face.  “What?”

“If you don’t discipline them, _I’ll_ make sure it gets done,” said Aziraphale.

“Of course, Aziraphale, but I don’t—”

“Surely at least Michael knows?” said Crowley.  “Right? Victoria?”

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale testily, “surely at least the archangel who is on a hair-trigger to kill anyone he doesn’t like already knows and is fine with it?”

She bit her lip.

“Oh my _God!_  What could he possibly think of us?”

“I don’t know.  I’m sorry.  I don’t really know what they think is going on.  They didn’t seem overly interested—”

“Well, we can’t tell him _now_ ,” said Aziraphale.  “Do you have any idea how he’ll react when he finds out—er, well the exact nature of our relationship?”

“I don’t know.  I’m sorry.”

“Blast,” said Crowley. “As if we need another thing waiting to blow up in our faces.”

They left Victoria uneasy on the roof and came back into the bedroom.  Adramelech flew at them as soon as they came in.

“Forgive me for the way I reacted, Master!  It was incredibly rude of me, and I’m still loyal—”

“That’s all right, Adramelech,” said Aziraphale, fending him off.  “I forgive you.”

“I’m still loyal, my lord,” fretted Adramelech, his jewelry jangling as he waved his arms.  “I just didn’t realize the full extent of how unconventional your relationship was.  The onus is on me.  Punish me if you wish.”

“That’s all right, Adramelech, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, lord, it just took me by surprise.”

“Okay, Adramelech.”

“I mean it, lord, I beg your forgiveness.  I am ashamed my reaction was to invalidate your feelings.  Send me away if you feel inclined.”

“Adramelech,” said Crowley. “ _Please_ just be quiet.”

“Now, don’t panic, Crowley,” said Aziraphale.  “If they’re all so dense that they haven’t figured it out by now, maybe they simply _won’t_ and we’ll sidestep this issue entirely.”

“Maybe,” he muttered.

“I’ve been so foolish,” said Adramelech.  “I’m so sorry.  How could I not have seen?  Master, would you like me to get you any…intimate supplies?  Candles?  Toys—”

“I think we can manage,” said Aziraphale, reddening and cutting him off before he could go any further. “We’ve gotten this far without assistance, thank you.  Please, just keep this to yourself, all right?”

Adramelech agreed, although he then ran out of the room as though he hadn’t heard and was on a mission to find something.

Crowley didn’t see Victoria chewing out those two angels, but he _heard_ it because she did it quite loudly.  Truth be told, he was disappointed she seemed to be mostly chastising them for allowing themselves to be “distracted by desires of the flesh” and having “un-angelic impulses” and not, you know, assaulting him.  When the two angels tried to argue that what they had done was not fundamentally different from Aziraphale’s behaviour, Victoria struggled to muster up an appropriate dismissal.  She eventually snapped at them that as warrior angels, they were held to higher standards than a field agent like Aziraphale.  Aziraphale might have been offended if he hadn’t also been worrying about Victoria’s lackluster grasp on what the problem was.  Aziraphale went up while she did that, and Crowley heard Aziraphale’s voice faintly trying to explain their perspective of the incident to the rest of the angels on the roof while he hid in the bedroom with the door locked.  Hopefully that would establish some rules of behaviour neither of them had thought they would need to lay out.

Maybe they shouldn’t have been surprised.  Angels are usually sexless, unless they want to make an effort, so it hardly seemed likely anyone had talked to them about consent up in Heaven.  But they _were_ disappointed.  Aziraphale was not sure how to try and explain it to Victoria after what she had said to the perpetrators.  He was half-afraid that if he tried, she would take the angels’ side and say Crowley must have enticed them somehow.

The demons, who had all been on Earth for longer, seemed to understand a little bit more.  Botis was the angriest of all when he heard about what had happened, and he insisted that Aziraphale command him to challenge the two angels in combat to the death in order to defend Crowley’s honour.

Aziraphale looked Botis up and down, half-tempted to actually do it.  Botis had obviously been some sort of warrior class as an angel and his aura was quite strong—there was a chance he might actually win against one, but probably not two.  And any violence at all might set off something larger, especially if Michael decided to get involved.  He just barely managed to convince Botis to let Victoria handle the matter.  Botis, in response, took to hovering around Crowley protectively whenever Aziraphale left, to the point where Crowley had to ask him to step out of his personal space several different times.

Judging by the look on Maltha’s face, though, those two angels’ most likely end might have been quietly, when they had their back turned towards her.  It might have actually happened had they not been sent away.

Those two disappeared, presumably sent back to heaven.  This incident brought the number of angels loitering on the roof down to fifteen.

Botis was the one who provided him with that particular figure, because Botis had become a neurotic wreck trying to keep track of all the threats to his master.  He considered the angels threats, maybe more out of habit than anything.  But it was probably not far from the truth, Aziraphale thought depressingly.

* * *

“Master.”

Aziraphale looked up from what he had been reading.  “What is it, Botis?”

The demon’s lips quavered around his tusk-like fangs.  “Lord Aziraphale, forgive me.  I know you want to avoid a fight with the angels, and I know you told me I shouldn’t worry about keeping an eye on them or focus on them while patrolling—”

“It’s all right, Botis, just tell me what the problem is.”

“There are sixteen angels on the roof, lord.”

Aziraphale put down his pen and massaged his temples.  “Yes, Botis, why is that noteworthy?”

“There were fifteen last night.  I did not see the arrival of the sixteenth one.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, realizing.  “Ooh. There’s an extra, is that what you’re worried about?”

“Yes, lord.”

“I’m sure they just sent down a replacement for those two angels that got sent away yesterday.”

Botis did not seem convinced, fidgeting agitatedly.  “Lord, if that were the case, why would they not send down two?”

“What is it you’re worried about, Botis?”

Botis rocked from one foot to the other.  “With so many angels and demons coming and going through this place, I am concerned someone who wished ill upon you could take the opportunity to slip in unnoticed to get close to you.  I have been able to keep track of the demons here, but the angels up there have escaped my notice far more often than I like.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. It seemed logical, and it also reeked of the kind of paranoia that both plagued Crowley and kept him alive in the face of danger, the kind Aziraphale had no way of confirming or denying.

“I just want to keep you safe, lord, and it’s very difficult when I can’t do anything about—”

Aziraphale cut him off with a wave.  “That’s all right, Botis, I understand.  Tell you what, if you bothers you that much, why don’t we go talk to Michael?  He can tell us who the extra angel is and why they came here.”

Botis somehow looked simultaneously relieved and nervous.  “ _Me?_  Talk to Michael, lord?”

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

Aziraphale beckoned Botis to follow him up the fire escape.  The demon clutched his sword tightly as they came onto the roof.  Aziraphale had not yet seen Botis look comfortable holding his own sword even once since they had met, but he was white-knuckling it like it was a good luck charm as the archangel’s eyes snapped up to them.

“What seems to be the problem, Aziraphale?” said Michael, jogging over.  His armor jangled as he did so, and he looked inordinately excited, as though begging Aziraphale to have some news that could lead to something interesting.

Aziraphale motioned to Botis to go on.

“Ah, s-sir,” said Botis, instantly covered in sweat.  “M-Michael, sir, I couldn’t help b-but n-notice that your squadron grew by one member last night.”

Michael blinked at him. “What?”

“There were fifteen angels under your command here last night, but today there are sixteen.”

Michael looked vaguely at his group.  “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Sir!” said Botis, growing red but gaining courage. “I spent two hours this morning counting and re-counting all the angels here!  There’s definitely one more than there was before!”

Michael’s expression was growing dull and disappointed.  “Oh, all right then.  Anything else?”

Botis froze.

“Erm,” said Aziraphale gently, “what we meant, Michael, is that you seem to have a newcomer in your group, but there are so many people coming and going that we hadn’t noticed who it was.  Would you mind introducing us to them?”  He had thought it was more important to try and memorize his demons’ names first.  He had only a vague recognition of the angels, and he thought that if you put all sixteen in a line-up, he wouldn’t be able to tell you which of them was the new one.

“You’ve got it backwards,” said Michael.  “We sent two angels back up because you made a fuss yesterday, remember, Aziraphale? There’s _fewer_ now.”

Aziraphale prodded Botis. “I’m _positive_ that one has joined you _after_ that, Michael, sir,” he stammered.

“I don’t know,” said Michael.  “Looks about the same to me.”

“Michael,” burst out Aziraphale, “ _please_ just tell us who the new arrival is.”

“I don’t think there _is_ one,” said Michael testily.  “Aziraphale, you don’t have to yell at me.”

Aziraphale stared at the archangel’s back as he huffed and stomped away.  “Botis,” he said, grabbing the demon’s arm and dragging him back down the fire escape.

“Lord?”

“Good work. Something’s going on here.”

Aziraphale knew it was plausible that Michael could simply have failed to notice someone joining his company.  Michael wasn’t _stupid_ , but he wasn’t exactly observant, either.  But Aziraphale was positive that Angelo, who seemed to have an easier time keeping track of what was going on, would have at least _told_ him if the company had gotten word that they were getting a new arrival, which Aziraphale was fairly sure Michael would have remembered when asked about.

Which meant that the sixteenth angel had joined the company unplanned, possibly without permission. And he could see the other angels lying to hide the newcomer’s presence.  The list of reasons went on and on:  How Victoria had publicly humiliated the last angels who had misbehaved; how Aziraphale was generally not well-liked by Heaven’s garrison; how they didn’t trust Aziraphale’s demons.  If the newcomer claimed they were going to do no harm, it would be instinctual to take their side.

The question was why someone would want to do that.  Botis’s concerns about someone wishing them ill surfaced at the forefront again, and he resolved to find Crowley immediately.

He pulled Botis behind him until he found Crowley in the upstairs hallway.

“There you are,” he said, relieved.  He grabbed him and towed one demon with each arm behind him.  “Come on, let’s find Angelo.  I’m sure he’ll know.”

That turned out to be a mistake.  Angelo simply sneered and said that if he had safety concerns, he could start with the horde of demons under his roof. Aziraphale had not wanted to rely on Victoria after the way she had handled the last problem they had brought to her, but if any of the angels who were sort-of his friends wouldn’t help him, there was a slim chance any of the others would.  He wasn’t terribly popular.

So he asked Victoria, but he made the mistake of bringing Botis with him for that.  She looked at the demon uncomfortably and answered evasively, and Aziraphale thought she was probably concerned Botis and the other demons would do something to the newcomer if they were discovered.

He found Maltha and Beth lounging in the flat and beckoned them over.  The five of them huddled together.

“We have a situation,” said Aziraphale.  “Botis has discovered that an extra angel snuck into Michael’s ranks last night, and the other angels won’t tell us anything about who they are or why they’re here.  Does anybody recognize who the newcomer is?  Surely a new face wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

Crowley wanted to say that angels all looked the same to him, but figured that would be offensive somehow and kept it to himself.

“There have been so many that I haven’t learned their names…” said Maltha hesitantly.

“That is precisely what we’re concerned about,” said Aziraphale.  “With so many people moving around here, someone could use it as an opportunity to sneak in.”

“They _must_ have ill intentions,” said Botis.  “Why else would they _sneak_ in, and not come openly?”

“But what could they be after?” said Crowley.

“Take your pick,” said Maltha.  “I doubt Michael’s ranks would admit anyone who wished _him_ harm, but between all the demons, traitors, and the antichrist here, they could be after anyone.”

“We need to flush them out,” said Aziraphale.  “I have some questions for them.”

Beth made a fist and tapped it into her open palm.  “Maltha said Michael’s angels are elite warriors that spend most of their time in Heaven, is that right?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “To be deployed at Michael’s command at Armageddon.  They’re woefully ignorant about the ways of the world.”

“Well, I seen an angel in the back room using a cell phone.”

They all paused. Aziraphale thought of how Victoria hadn’t even known what a mobile phone was when she saw one.

“Good thinking, Beth,” said Maltha, ruffling her hair.

“Then they must be a field agent,” said Aziraphale.  “Not somebody Michael would have brought.  Let’s go.”

They went down as a group and gathered in the doorway to the back room.  There was an angel seated at the table with her feet thrown up casually on it, and she was typing quite fast on an electronic device in her hand.

Aziraphale examined her aura more closely.  She definitely was not a warrior angel.  She was a field agent, no doubt about it.  There was no way she would be with Michael’s company.

Aziraphale strolled into the room with artificial nonchalance.  “Excuse me, my dear.  What’s your name?”

Her eyes snapped up to him nervously.  “Rosia,” she said.

“Hello, Rosia.  I couldn’t help but notice you’re using a mobile. I was wondering if it’s common among Michael’s warriors to use technology like that.”

She clicked the lock on her phone and slipped it into her pocket immediately.  “Not terribly common, no, but…”

Aziraphale fingered the edge of the table, his stare drilling into her.  “You’re not in Michael’s ranks, are you?”

Rosia bit her lip, opened her mouth to answer, and shut it again.  Then she darted away from the table.

She was immediately tackled to the floor by Botis.

“Get off me!” she yelled, kicking at the demon.

“I knew it!” said Botis, seemingly obliviously the smacks landing on his face.  “What harm do you intend for my masters, fiend?”

“Aziraphale, you’d let this demons attack a fellow angel?” said Rosia.

Maltha slammed one clawed foot down inches away from the angel’s face, and both she and Botis froze.

“Stand up,” rumbled the archdemon.  “Now.”

Botis and Rosia stood slowly, brushing themselves off.

“Rosia, you will answer our questions now.”

Rosia crossed her arms.

The commotion had drawn a crowd by now, and Aziraphale moved them out into the shop where there was more room.  He was somewhat dismayed to see Michael, Angelo, and Victoria descending the stairs with a few warriors in tow, looking hostile.

“Aziraphale, what are you doing?” said Victoria shortly.  “I thought you wanted to _avoid_ a fight.”

“Well, we weren’t going to make it a _scene_ ,” Aziraphale snapped back at her. “But since you brought Michael down I guess now it _is_ one.”

Rosia was eyeing the crowd of demons that had gathered around her with apprehension.

“What are you doing here?” said Maltha.  “Why did you try to hide from us?”

Rosia grew red, still looking out at the demons.  “I-I….I…”

“Sirs!” said one demon suddenly, throwing his paw into the air, pushing towards the front.  “Sirs, wait!  Wait!”

The demon, who Aziraphale remembered was named Rava, stood in front of Maltha and Aziraphale.  He swallowed nervously, but then didn’t say anything.

“Well, what is it?” said Aziraphale, a trifle testily.  His patience for this whole escapade running out.  “Out with it.”

“Sir, she snuck in to be closer to me!  Punish me, not her!”

“No!” said Rosia, running over to him.  “Don’t punish him, it’s not his fault.”

“What?” said Aziraphale vaguely.  “What do you mean?”

Crowley’s face was dawning with horror next to him, as though realizing something of which Aziraphale was a bit slower on the uptake.  “Rava?  What do you mean?” pressed Aziraphale.

Rava looked at him, trembling.  “She snuck in because she was worried about me.”

“Why would she be worried about you?”

“Because we love each other!” Rosia burst out finally, drawing Rava closer to her.  “All right?  There! I said it!”

It seemed that the angels and demons had finally found something to agree on:  The room immediately erupted into angry shouting. Rosia and Rava hugged closer to each other.

“Hold on, hold on!” said Aziraphale, clapping his hands, trying to wrangle the room back into silence. When he finally succeeded, he continued, “Rava, dear boy, is this true?  You and this angel love each other?”

He nodded.

“Filth!  Deceit!” shouted an angel from behind Michael.  “Demons don’t love!  What has he done to her?”

“Rava,” said one of the demons, “you can’t be serious.”

“Angels don’t love like _that_ ,” said another demon.

“She’s playing with him.”

“Rosia, we’ll get you away from him!”

“This is some kind of trick.”

“Please, everybody, quiet!” said Aziraphale, and before he could say anything else, Rava interjected:

“Lord Aziraphale, please believe me, I would never hurt her or trick her.  We were stationed opposite each other for millennia and—well, we—we couldn’t stay enemies for that long, could we?  And…”

“No way,” Crowley whispered. “No _way._ ”

“And eventually we came to a sort of understanding, and it ended up turning into something more.”

“We _do_ love each other,” said Rosia.  “You might not believe it, but it’s true.”

“Lord Aziraphale?” said Oryss.  He looked over.  Oryss had watery eyes.  What did he see there?  Disbelief? Hope?  Pleading, he decided after a moment, begging for it to be true.  Unmistakable.

He took a deep breath. “Now, everyone, I think we should stop and think about this for a minute.  What these two have with each other is not really any different from—”

Crowley inhaled sharply from beside him.

“—what Crowley and I have. You can’t be fine with it when it’s us, but then reject these two.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

“But that’s different,” said Botis.  “You two aren’t…you know…”

“We aren’t what?”

The demons all shifted uncomfortably.

“You know, _together_ ,” said Botis.  “It’s a business partnership.”

“For somebody’s sake,” snapped Crowley.  “How dense are you lot?  We’re _together_ , in every sense of the word.  We love each other, in every sense of the word.  If anyone’s got a problem with that, out with it now.”

Somebody coughed.

“Really?” said Oryss.

“Dear girl,” said Aziraphale gently.  “ _Yes._  I thought it would have been obvious.”

“I guess we didn’t think you two’d….” began a demon in the front.

“I-I knew you would understand, lord,” said Rava, amazed and joyful.

“Now hold on a minute,” said one of the warrior angels stormily.  “Demons are not capable of that kind of love.  Carnal desire, yes, but not actual love.”

Maltha edged closer to the couple as the warrior spoke, as though ready to throw herself between them and him.

“Now _you_ hold on a minute,” said Beth, stepping forwards. “I think my expertise might be of some help here.”

“What, you?” said a demon. “What would you know about this?”

Beth blinked at her. “Well.  About demons loving. You know.  Because I’m with Maltha?”

A fresh wave of surprise swept through everyone in the room.

“What?” said Beth, flabbergasted.  “You didn’t know we were together? What did y’all  _think?_ ”

“Archdemons usually have maidservants…” offered a demon lamely.

“Thought she had you hypnotized,” said another.  “I thought it was a bit cruel, but I didn’t want to say anything…”

“Sometimes humans make deals in exchange for their souls…” guessed a third.

“W-Well, it’s nothing like that,” said Beth, flushing red.  “We just like each other a lot.”

“Listen,” said Maltha. “You may not like it, but demons _are_ capable of innocent, selfless love.  If anyone has a problem with that, take it up with me and Beth before you bother Rosia and Rava.”

“You’re mistaken,” said an angel.  “Whatever you’re feeling, it isn’t love.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Great, someone _else_ who thinks they know more than me trying to tell me what I’m feeling.   _That_ never gets old!”

Aziraphale was disheartened to hear several of the demons agree, saying that they didn’t feel love because demons in general did not love.

“Now hold on, everyone!” Adramelech pushed his way to the front and planted himself between the group by Aziraphale and Crowley and the rest of the hostile crowd.  “I’ve given this a bit of thought, and I’ve realized: this isn’t really any different from us, is it?  I mean, don’t we _love_ the Earth?”

“I don’t know if that’s really the right word for it…” said Abraxas.

“Abraxas,” said Adramelech. “Don’t you _love_ your cat?”

“Well, I…”

“And I _love_ fashion.  Oryss, you _love_ cooking, and Naruto, you _love_ your waifu, don’t you?  And Lirach keeps talking about how she _loves_ her car, and Velor _loves_ science, and Garmil _loves_ sewing.  We keep bringing this stuff up because we love the things we can do on this planet.”

They all murmured and shifted about vaguely.

“And we all _have_ angelic counterparts,” Adramelech went on.  “It’s not like we hate them, do we?  It’s not really that outlandish.”

“Sirs, I must protest this line of reasoning,” said Botis, stiffly marching up so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Adramelech. The smaller demon glared up at Botis fiercely from under his eyeliner.

“It’s true I have an angelic counterpart,” said Botis.  “And it’s true that I care about her very much.  It’s true that our relationship is built on mutual respect and trust.  And of course I feel better when she’s around, and my heart flutters when she laughs.  And if she were to ask me to face certain death together with her, sure, I’d do it. These are all totally normal and natural things. Does that mean I _love_ her?”

“Well… yeah,” said Crowley.

Botis blinked at him.

“I mean…it sounds like you do.”

Botis stuttered.

“What did you all think love _was_?  Some mysterious emotion too ineffable for you to understand?”

“That’s exactly what it is,” huffed one of the angels.  “This is deception.  Demons don’t love.  It’s a godly emotion.  They’re playing us.”

“Ahm, excuse me,” said Aziraphale.  “If I may direct your attention to the sigils adorning the shop exterior, I think you’ll find they set up a spell that bars the entry of all demons except those who love the Earth.   _Love_ it.  If a demon is standing in this shop, it is only because they feel love.”

The angels muttered to themselves.  The demons all looked vaguely embarrassed, as though wrestling with emotions they would rather not acknowledge.  

“Okay,” shouted a demon.  “Fine! But _angels_ don’t love _that_ way _.”_

“He’s right,” said an angel, who sounded disgusted to be agreeing with a demon.  “Angels do not pair bond.  That’s ridiculous.”

“Hm?” said Michael. “What do you mean?”

Michael’s warriors turned as one to look at him, suddenly realizing how quiet he had been throughout this whole exchange.

“I mean that angels don’t partner up the same way humans do,” the angel repeated.

“Yeah they can,” said Michael.  “It’s not that different from me and Angelo.”

“ _Michael_ ,” said Angelo, his voice cracking.

“ _You two?_ ” said Crowley.

Angelo reddened. Nobody was sure what to say.  The entire group just stood around looking vaguely embarrassed.  Mittens broke the silence by strolling in to beg for attention, and Abraxas knelt and told her to be quiet.

“You can’t let them get away with this, Michael,” seethed an angel.

“With what?”

“Whatever this abomination is between these demons and the ones they claim to love.”

Maltha’s nostrils flared. Crowley crept closer to Aziraphale. Rosia and Rava held each other tightly, bracing themselves.

“I mean, it’s fine I guess,” said Michael.  “Who cares? What’s the problem?”

If the reader has ever heard a human bigot try to justify why they disapprove of a certain relationship due to the members’ demographics, they would probably recognize the spluttering that came next as those who still disapproved fumbled to find a reasonable objection without resorting to “I don’t like it,” or “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Crowley had his eye keenly on Michael.  He was astonished to see that the archangel looked bored.

Without a further word, Michael turned and clunked back up the stairs.  Angelo hurried after him.  Victoria, sensing that the moment of tension had passed, tried to encourage the others to disperse.

Soon it was only Aziraphale and the demons.  Adramelech was still shielding them from the rest, wringing his hands nervously.  

“All right, let’s get this out of the way right now,” said Crowley.  He lifted one finger as if to point, realized he didn’t have a target, and so swung it around the room so as to point to everyone at once. “Aziraphale and I love each other, and you all had better leave Rava and Rosia alone about this.  We need to respect one another.  I won’t have any fighting, and neither will Aziraphale, understand?  This is supposed to be a safe place.  If anyone has any problems, voice them now, or you’re free to walk out.”

The demons all looked chastised, guilty, as though being confronted with feelings they had so far managed to bury.  Nobody left or said anything.  “Okay. Good.  Now.  Disperse. Resume your posts.  Shoo.  Whatever.”

The demons murmured amongst themselves as they scattered, moving slowly off in clumps.

Rava turned towards Aziraphale bowed very deeply. “Master, thank you so much. I knew you would understand.”

Aziraphale, unsure of what to do with this display, patted Rava’s head.  Rosia, who was technically the same rank as Aziraphale, settled for an awkward handshake.

He looked over to see that Oryss was still standing there, looking from Rosia and Rava to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Is this for real?” she said.  “Really real?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Yes, I promise.”

Tears began to spill from her eyes.  Aziraphale moved forwards, took her hands in his, and leaned in to whisper to her. “There’s someone, isn’t there?”

She nodded.

“And when you told them, they didn’t believe you?”

Nod.

“An angel I’m assuming?”

“She was supposed to be thwarting me,” she said.  “But most of the time we ended up binge-eating instead…”

Aziraphale squeezed her hands.  “Oryss, when this is all over, you’re going to go back to where you were before, and you’re going to find that angel, and you’re going to show her you’re serious. I’m confident your cooking alone would win her over.”

She gave a half-sob, half laugh.  Aziraphale fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed her eyes.  “It’s okay, Oryss.  I promise.”

She leaned into him, as though for a hug.  He hesitated, then put his arms around her.  It was the first time someone else had comforted her in her entire existence, but it wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

“Michael.  Michael!”

Michael was barely visible in the gathering darkness on the roof; Angelo could see the moonlight reflecting in his deep eyes as he turned back.

Angelo stood still, the cold night air beginning to seep into his corporation.  They were alone on the roof for now.

“Michael, are you okay?”

Michael plopped himself down on the ground heavily.  “No.”

Angelo scurried over and knelt.  “What’s wrong?”

Michael’s fingers tangled in his own hair.  “Angelo, I need to kill something, I need a bloodbath, I _need…_ ”

Angelo hesitated. “Michael, it’s okay that there’s peace. You’re okay.”

“I’m _not_ okay!” Michael whined, and it was then that it dawned on Angelo:  The sword of Heaven.  He had been made for a purpose.  That purpose was the slaughter of the unrighteous, which had by now been dangled in front of him and then suddenly yanked away twice.

The delay of the apocalypse was taking a toll on him.  That venture into Hell had been only a fraction of what he was designed to do.

“Oh, Michael,” Angelo said, prying his hands away from his face and sliding onto the archangel’s lap. “Michael, it’s all right.  Look at me.”

Michael’s eyes were bloodshot and crested by heavy bags.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said.  “I promise, it’ll be all right, and it’ll be all right without you having to kill anyone important to Aziraphale.”

“There were supposed to be other archdemons,” said Michael.  “They said archdemons were after them.  Are they still coming?”

“They’re afraid of you,” said Angelo.  “But I’m sure they’re not that patient, Michael, don’t worry.  I’m sure they’ll come.”

He was not sure whether he wanted to believe they would come or not.  Angelo was only an assistant and not a warrior; he did not have a death wish and consequently did not want to face an archdemon.  But he thought that one had better show up soon, or he wasn’t sure what they would do.


	7. The Flesh is Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158797704195/aziraphales-legion-part-7-the-flesh-is-weak

“Lord Aziraphale, Oryss wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you, Botis.”

Aziraphale sighed as he removed himself from his desk, leaving a napping Crowley alone on the couch behind him.  Botis hadn’t specified where Oryss was, but he could guess.

As he passed the hall closet, his ears prickled to sounds coming from inside.  Alarmed, he ripped it open.

A warrior angel stood awkwardly hunched over inside the closet, tangled in garments with a partially undressed demon under him.

“You sure are a _grabby_ group,” said Aziraphale stormily, yanking the demon out and pulling her bra strap back up.  “Aren’t you?  Do I have to be around all the time to ensure you don’t force yourself on my demons?  What did I just finish explaining to you all?  Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“You lot are all pair bonding!” said the angel, pushing the coat hangers bumping his head out of the way. “Don’t see why it’s suddenly not allowed when it’s _me._  I’m making an effort for her and everything.”

The demon tugged on his sleeve.  “Lord Aziraphale, I initiated this, not him.”

Aziraphale looked from the demon to the angel and back again, turning red.  “Oh.  Ah.  I see.”

The demon slunk back into the closet.  Aziraphale, very red indeed, pushed it shut.  He did his best to forget what he had seen as he came down the stairs.

“Good morning, Master!” said a demon to him when he came into sight.

“I hope you don’t need a jacket,” Aziraphale said, dodging her.

He found Oryss in the kitchen as predicted.  There were sheets and sheets of chocolate chip biscuits covering every flat surface*, and another was emerging from the oven.

*and some curved ones as well.

“Master!” said Oryss, taking her oven mitts off and giving a small bow.  “Thank you for coming down.”

“What’s all this?” said Aziraphale, sampling a biscuit off the nearest tray.

“I decided to bake for everyone,” she said.  She was panting, as though she had been literally running around the kitchenette, and she waved the oven mitts.  “Er, you know, as a treat for everyone.  A gesture of good will.”

“I think it’s marvelous,” said Aziraphale.  “What was it you needed me for?”

“Er….”  She shuffled her feet.  “I wanted to take some up to the angels on the roof….”

“And you were afraid to go up by yourself.”

She nodded. Aziraphale patted her shoulder. “I’ll go with you.  I’m sure they’ll love them.”

He followed behind Oryss on the fire escape as she took a tray up, steadying her with a hand since she couldn’t hold the railing.  She froze when they came out onto the roof and Michael’s eyes fell on her.

“Go ahead,” Aziraphale prodded.

“Er,” she said, stiff as a board.  “Sirs!”

When she still did not continue, Aziraphale sighed and drew her forward by the arm.  “Oryss has brought something for you all.”

She held the tray out. Michael looked at it blearily. Angelo furrowed his brow.  The other angels had blank expressions.

Finally, Victoria let out an exasperated sigh.  She drew forwards, snatched a biscuit off the tray, and ate it with cartoonishly loud sounds of enjoyment.  When still no one else came forwards, she glared at them and gestured angrily for them to come up.

They gathered around Oryss as though she were feeding a great flock of pigeons, and her eyes lit up with happiness as a few of them admitted that they _were_ good and thanked her.  As soon as the tray was empty, she bowed and scuttled away down the fire escape. 

“I think they liked them…” she said, sounding unsure but proud.

“I think they did,” said Aziraphale.  “That’s the way to someone’s heart, straight through their stomach.”

They came downstairs to find that the demons had already begun to attack the remaining batches in the kitchen.  And there was one angel among that lot, his hair mussed up and with a scarf from the back of Aziraphale’s closet around his neck, sitting next to a demon covered in hickeys who was scarfing the biscuits down at an alarming rate.  Adam was frantically dragging Dog away from the scene, trying to keep him from eating the bits that hit the floor, admonishing him about how they were poisonous to him.  Dog did not seem to care and looked like he would happily die if it meant he could lick the floor unhindered.

Maltha and Beth were there, too.  Maltha had apparently never eaten a biscuit before, which Beth was attempting to remedy. Poor Maltha, of course, found this very confusing.

“What did you say these were called again?” she said, breaking one apart in her hands.

“Cookies,” said Beth.

The angel with the scarf around his neck broke in, “They’re biscuits.”

Maltha furrowed her brow. “I thought biscuits were the sort of doughy things you ate with breakfast.”

“They are,” said Beth, patting her arm.  “You’ve got it right.”

“You’re thinking of scones,” said the angel.

“Scones?” said Maltha. “I’ve never eaten a scone before, either.”

“You have,” said Beth. “At that café in New York?  They called it a doughnut, though.  I’m not sure why.”

“A biscuit is what you eat with gravy on it,” Maltha elaborated.  “That’s what we had when we were in Kentucky.”

“Gravy?  On a biscuit?” said the angel, wrinkling his nose.

Maltha looked down at the pastry in her hand.  “It sounded more appetizing in America.”

“It’s a cookie,” insisted Beth.

“Cookies are the wafers you have with coffee!” interjected a demon nearby.

“I’m told you,” the angel said stubbornly.  “I’m not stupid.”

“No you’re not,” said the demon sitting on his lap.  “Tell them, babe.”

More and more people in the room got drawn into the argument.  Maltha seemed to lose interest in what the pastries were called halfway through in favor of grabbing handfuls of them while everyone else was distracted.

Aziraphale figured he had better grab one for Crowley now before they were all gone.  But he ended up eating it on the way up, and Crowley never knew there were any biscuits because there were none left by the time he woke up from his nap. 

* * *

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale.   _Aziraphale!_ ”

Aziraphale looked up from the book he had been reading.  He had been trying to read this book for the last four days, and each time he had never gotten further than half a page.  He thought that maybe if he just started ignoring people when they called his name, he could finally make some progress, but he should have guessed it wouldn’t be that easy.

He sighed and put the book down, only to see Beth hovering over his desk, looking frantic.

“What is it, Beth?”

“We…uh…have a situation.”

“What’s happening?”

“Michael.”

That did not actually explain what was happening, but it conveyed the urgency well enough. Aziraphale followed her through the hallway into the flat.  She led him to the loo.  Angelo was defending the door, trying to scare away a few demons that had gathered nearby. It was not working because Angelo was not the least bit scary, but he was making a valiant effort.

“Beth, make them go away,” the small angel whined.  Intense sobbing could be heard coming from the bathroom door behind him, which was cracked open slightly.

“All right, Angelo,” snapped Beth.  “Just relax.” She turned to the demons.  “Could you please give us some privacy for a few minutes?”

The hallway cleared instantly.  Beth elbowed Angelo aside and tapped on the bathroom door.  “Michael?  Aziraphale is here.  Is that okay? Can I open the door?”

“Not _him_ ,” Michael sobbed.  “I don’t want _him_ to see.”

“Michael, it’s okay!” Beth said, exasperated.  “You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it really is.”

“I don’t want any of the angels to see this,” he cried. 

“Michael, can I open the door?”

“Don’t let Aziraphale see. This is humiliating.  Don’t let him see.”

“Michael, I _promise_ you Aziraphale _does not_ care,” said Beth.  

“What on Earth is happening?” said Aziraphale, bewildered.

“I’m coming in,” said Beth, pushing the door open before Michael could complain further.

When it swung open, Aziraphale saw the archangel standing in the bathtub, leaning against the wall.  The entire front of his trousers was soaked with blood, and he had a saturated rag pressed to his groin.

“Oh no,” said Aziraphale, coming in behind her.  “Where are you hurt?”

“Erm, Aziraphale…” said Beth.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“It’s not…”

When Aziraphale looked down and saw the sanitary pads spilled on the floor, it clicked what was actually happening.  “Oh. Ohhhh…”

“I can’t make it stop,” sobbed Michael.  “I can always make it stop, but now I can’t.  I’m losing control of my corporation.  Please don’t tell my warriors.  Aziraphale, promise you don’t think less of me now.”

“Michael, it’s okay,” said Beth.

“They won’t respect me if they find out I can’t even control my own corporation,” Michael continued, ignoring her. “What kind of warrior bleeds like this?”

Angelo came in and pulled the door shut behind him.  “We got Beth because it seemed like she might know what to do, and Michael refused to let any of his warriors find out what was happening.  They’re still on the roof wondering why he ran off so suddenly.”

“No one ever showed him how to put a tampon in,” said Beth.  “Aziraphale, don’t they tell you these things when they give you human bodies?”

“I…”  Aziraphale had never been in a body that menstruated, so he honestly didn’t know.  When he had gotten his own body, he had mostly been left to his own devices to figure everything out, so he imagined they might not have done much in the way of education for anyone else either.

“Why can’t I make it stop?” sniffled Michael.  “I can always make it stop.  Why can’t I…?”

“Michael,” said Aziraphale, “you’re saying that you usually just use a miracle to stop the bleeding? But for some reason it’s not working now?”

Michael hung his head miserably. “I-it started a few days ago, and I felt worse than normal but I didn’t think much of it and just used a miracle like usual, and then just now it all started coming out at once.”

“Ah…” said Aziraphale awkwardly.  “Okay.”

Two angels and a human woman stood around the bleeding archangel trying to brainstorm how to help him.

“Michael, what do your warriors usually do?” said Aziraphale.  “The ones who have the same anatomy.”

“I don’t think any of them do,” said Michael.

“What? None of them? There are fourteen of them.”

Michael adjusted the rag. “I-I mean, I don’t think any of them menstruate.  When they were incorporated, they made sure to give them ones that didn’t menstruate to avoid this.”

“Erm…” said Aziraphale, “then why did they not do the same for you?”

Michael looked at him bitterly.

“Michael?”

“I wasn’t supposed to have a corporation, okay?” he said hysterically.  “It was a mistake that they gave me one at all.  Something got mixed up, but I just held onto it.  If I tried to exchange it, Gabriel and Camael would have made them just take it away from me and not replace it, and then I wouldn’t be able to come down to Earth at all.”

Angelo glared at Aziraphale, as though angry at him for making Michael reveal that information. “Don’t worry about that, Michael. Let’s just focus on fixing the problem.” 

Aziraphale realized exactly how useless he had been compared to Beth until this point and resolved to try and make things better instead of worse.  “All right, don’t worry, Michael, we’ll figure something out.  What do you need?”

Michael sniffled.  “I need to figure out how to get the miracle to work.  It’s not working.”

Aziraphale could not imagine what could cause someone to lose control of their own corporation besides a binding sigil that restricted powers. And he was sure they would have noticed if something like that had happened.

If Michael had never meant to be incorporated, maybe his body simply couldn’t take the strain of holding him?  He had never heard of anything like that before, but Michael’s aura was particularly enormous.  If that were the case, there probably wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.

But it wasn’t like there was any difference between Michael’s body and, say, Maltha’s, who had the same aura strength and presumably had never had a problem like this. At least as far as he could tell. So what else was there?  ...Unless Michael was sick somehow?

“Maybe we can see if Maltha can help?” he suggested.  “She’s a healer.”

Michael drew back, panic flaring.  “You will certainly _not_ tell _her_ about this!”

“And you’re sure none of your warriors can help?” Beth pressed.

“I can’t let any of the angels see this,” Michael wept.  “I have an image to maintain.  They won’t respect me anymore if they see me like this.”

“All right,” said Beth. “Aziraphale, can we get one of your demons to help?” 

“I can’t let a _demon_ help me,” Michael exclaimed.

“Michael, you keep insisting you can’t let any of your angels see this.  That means if you want help you have to get it from a demon.”

“Can’t you just help me?”

Beth pulled at her hair. “I can’t do miracles. What exactly is it you want me to help you with?”

Michael pressed the rag to himself, looking red and chastised.

Beth turned around and pulled Aziraphale aside.  “Aziraphale, I, um…  Could we get one of the demons who have the same… _type_ of body as Michael to help us out?  After what happened with Maltha I didn’t want to make any assumptions and er…”

“What happened with Maltha?”

Beth grew red.  “Never mind that, um….  I think…Well, you could ask...Botis?  I mean, it’s hard to tell under the armor…”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.  “Oh, yes, good thinking.  Ah…All right. I’ll go see if I can find him.”

Aziraphale turned around and walked out of the flat.  He almost smacked into Victoria in the hallway.

“Aziraphale,” said Victoria. “Did you see where Michael went? He and Angelo ran downstairs, and I thought I saw blood.”

“Ah!” said Aziraphale. “Ah, no, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about Michael.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, sure,” said Aziraphale, trying to corral her away from the bathroom and out of the flat.  

He brushed past her to try and mount the stairs, but Oryss was coming up them.

“Oryss!” said Aziraphale, changing course.  “Oryss, dear girl, I need to ask you something.”

“What is it, lord?”

Aziraphale put his hands on her shoulders.  “Do you…Well, do you…um…”

She looked at him strangely, waiting for him to stop fumbling.  When he finally succeeded in asking his question, she answered unsurely, “Well, I used to, but I usually turn it off. It’s quite annoying.”

“Perfect! That’s perfect!” said Aziraphale grabbing her arm and dragging her up the stairs. “I need your help with something.”

Victoria was still standing in the junction between the bookshop and the flat, eyeing Aziraphale skeptically as he took Oryss past her.  When Aziraphale passed with no acknowledgement of the warrior, Oryss offered a quiet “excuse me.” 

The bathroom door was closed again, Angelo’s voice drifting out from inside with Beth hanging around outside.  Aziraphale came up and pushed Oryss towards Beth.  “All right, Oryss, we need your expertise.”

“My what?”

“Oryss,” said Beth. “Can you help Michael figure out how to stop menstruating?”

“Can I _what?_ ” said Oryss, alarmed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right here.”

“Please?” said Beth. “I’m really at a loss here.”

Oryss grimaced and allowed Beth to convince her to come into the bathroom.

Aziraphale figured that out of all of them, he probably had the fewest qualifications to help, and so hung around in the back while Beth, Oryss, and Angelo worked together.  He had to stop Victoria from pestering them multiple times, and he eventually took her back up to the roof in the hopes that she’d stay up there and leave them alone.

When he came back down, he saw Michael in the hallway, dressed and cleaned, holding Beth’s hand with his right and Oryss’s with his left.

“Lord,” said Oryss. “May I have permission to go to the store with Beth and Michael?”

“Er, sure,” said Aziraphale. “Whatever you need.”

He watched the two lead Michael, who was much quieter now, out the front of the bookshop.  

When he turned back around, Victoria was staring at him with narrowed eyes.  He returned her gaze unsurely.

“Listen, Aziraphale,” she said sternly.  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I saw you get Michael help from a demon instead of an angel.”

“I…” said Aziraphale, wringing his hands.

“Just listen.  I know you value Earth above Heaven. No, don’t try to deny it, I see you opening your mouth to do it, but it’s just going to be lies. I can accept that.  I can accept that you would rather save the Earth than see it destroyed.  I would be lying if I said I necessarily wanted the Earth to be destroyed myself. But please remember what Michael’s function is.  He is the Sword of Heaven.  That’s what he does. That’s always been his purpose. The war.  That’s who he is.  He needs it. And I could see you trying to convince him the Earth was worth saving to try and put the war off.  Trying the same thing you did to that archdemon.”

“Listen here,” said Aziraphale, indignant.

“No, you listen.  I just wanted to tell you: I won’t let you. Michael doesn’t need you manipulating him for your own agenda.  He has enough to deal with when the other archangels do that.  He doesn’t need one of his only friends trying it, too.”

“The archangels?”

She shook her head. “Never mind them.  Just remember what I said.  I won’t let you hurt him, do you understand?”

“Of course…” said Aziraphale, feeling helpless.

“So you’d do well to simply keep your demons away from him.  Got it?”

“Er…” said Aziraphale. “Well, sometimes it can’t really be helped.”

Victoria gave him a fiery gaze.  He squirmed under it.

“This whole arrangement is unnatural,” she pressed.  “Nothing but trouble will come of it.  I maintain my position that it should be disbanded as soon as possible.”

“What did you say?” said Crowley, padding into the room, sounding angry.

Victoria’s gaze widened on him, as though she hadn’t realized he could be listening.

“What arrangement is unnatural?” he pressed.  “Go on. Say it.”

“You know what I mean, Crowley,” she said.

“Angels and demons together.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You just meant it’s not natural for them to be cooperating instead of fighting.”

Victoria grimaced.

“Victoria, it’s obvious what your feelings have been about this from the very beginning.  You don’t do a good job hiding them.  If you keep doing this, it’s only going to exacerbate the tension between everyone here.  Maybe the world is changing and this is the way it is now.  Why can’t you accept that?”

Victoria did not respond.

“Victoria?”

“It’s not fair,” she burst out.  “You think this is fair?  The war is still going to happen. One way or another, it’s going to happen as long as we’re on different sides.  You seem to be willfully ignoring the ineffable Almighty looming over us to whom we might as well be chess pieces.  It’s going to happen.  This will break down and we’ll be at each other’s throats like we were never under one roof peacefully.  And I’ll have to kill them.  And you all won’t even have the decency to let me hate them to protect myself from that.”

“Victoria…” said Crowley.

Victoria wiped her eye.  “I’m just saying we shouldn’t get too comfortable,” she continued, quieter.  “There is still an order to things, whether we like it or not. It’s not up to us.  We’re still on different sides.”

“Victoria,” said Crowley. “Have you learned nothing?  Has it still not occurred to you?”

“What?”

“We’ve made our own side. Here, in the shop.”

“ _There is no third side,_ ” Victoria yelled.  “As much as I want to believe that, it’s not going to happen.”

“Vic—”

“No, just stop it, you tempter.”  She was shaking. “I’ve never actually wanted anything before in my life enough to be tempted by it.  Is this what it feels like? Have you finally found something with which to corrupt me, serpent?”

Crowley shrank back.

She steadied herself. “I’m sorry.  This is just…a bit too much for me.  I…Let me know when Michael’s back, okay?”

She removed herself from the room before they could answer.

“Bloody Hell,” said Crowley. “What is _happening?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said.  “But I don’t have a good feeling about it.” 


	8. All Hell Breaks Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/158983809380/aziraphales-legion-part-8-all-hell-breaks-loose

“Lord Aziraphale,” said the whisper in his ear.

Aziraphale jerked out of his sound sleep and flailed, tangled in the sheets.  “What?  What?” he said, looking around wildly.  Crowley sat up beside him too, rubbing his eyes.

Botis stood back from the bed, standing at attention, his armor rattling.  He was barely visible in the midnight gloom.  “Lord Aziraphale, there is something downstairs that requires your immediate attention.”

“Oh,” he said, sagging. “All right.”

As he stood and began to rifle through his clothes, Botis said, “Master, _please_ hurry.” 

He was still fixing his tie as he came down the stairs into the bookshop.

The front door of the shop was broken, glass shards littering the floor everywhere.  And there was a small boy holding a hammer among the shelves, shaking and crying.

It was frightening how much this boy looked like Adam had when he was younger, with a grubby t-shirt, torn jeans, and messy, wavy blonde hair.  The angry tears were not something Aziraphale had ever seen on Adam, however. Aziraphale might have been angry about the broken door, but he didn’t think there was time for that.

“My dear boy,” said Aziraphale in what he hoped was a soothing voice.  “Are you all right?” 

“Are you the principality Aziraphale?” said the boy.

“Yes, I am.”

The hammer slipped from fingers far too small for it and _thudded_ onto the floor.  “Kill me, then.”

“What?” said Aziraphale. 

“Kill me.”

“W-Why?”

“You killed my father, you killed my brother.  Might as well finish me off too.”

“Hold on,” said Crowley, kneeling down and holding his hands out.  “It’s all r—”

“ _I wasn’t talking to you!_ ” the boy screamed.

Crowley flinched back, because it was the voice of his old lord, that rage-filled, authoritarian roar. The scream Adam had used to simply command information to come to him, to order away the darkness that had been tormenting him.  The one that demanded complete and total submission down to one’s very bones.

“Forgive me, master!” Crowley said, his voice cracking.

The boy’s face contorted into anger, and Crowley felt horror welling up from inside him.  It had been a reflex.  It was the same voice, that same voice that he had begged to forgive him through blood, sweat, and tears as the pain kept coming and coming and _coming_ no matter what he did, until he let himself give up trying to extract mercy out of Satan and just scream and call Aziraphale to save him.

“You heard _him_ , didn’t you?  You think I’m just like _him_ , don’t you?” said the boy, his voice reverberating with that same infernal tinge again.

“N-no!” said Crowley, still kneeling, but now as a desperate supplication rather than a kindness. “No, I didn’t m-m…”

“Young man,” said Aziraphale, and the boy’s eyes snapped back up to him.  “ _Please_ stop that.  You’re hurting him.”

The boy looked to Crowley again, who had a faraway look in his eyes, somewhere else mentally.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Aziraphale.  “You can quit that nonsense.”

“Why not?” said the boy, wiping his face.

“Well, I—well, because—oh, look here comes Adam.”

This last part was said with no small amount of relief as Adam entered the room, still in his pajamas and looking alarmed.  As soon as his eyes fell to the boy, his face hardened with resolve and understanding.

Aziraphale tugged Crowley’s arm and pulled him up, holding him close and sneakily planting a kiss on him. Adam took his place, squatting down.

“Hi, I’m Adam.  What’s your name?”

The boy swallowed.  “ _You’re_ Adam?”

“Who else would I be?”

“They told me you were dead.”

“They say a lot of things you shouldn’t listen to,” said Adam.  “Now tell me, what’s your name?”

“Noah,” said the boy, wiping his face.

“Noah, are you all right?”

“No.”

“Would you like some help?”

The boy nodded, his eyes welling with tears again.

Adam took Noah’s hands and led him to the back room.  Aziraphale thought it might be prudent to leave the two of them alone for now.

“Are you all right, dear boy?” said Aziraphale to Crowley.

“Y-yeah.  It was just…  he sure does take after his old man, doesn’t he?” said Crowley weakly.

Aziraphale kissed him again. “His ‘old man,’ as you put it, is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.  Don’t forget that.”

“R-right.”

In that moment Aziraphale felt more proud of himself for offing Satan than he ever had.  The fact that he had managed to kill someone who brought so much pain and fear upon Crowley gave him immense satisfaction. 

The two of them went back to the bedroom.  Botis was still by the bed, apparently too scared to have followed them down.

“Thank you for alerting us, Botis,” said Aziraphale.  “Excellent work, as usual.”

Botis puffed up at that a bit, but still said nothing.  Aziraphale eventually had to shoo him away so he and Crowley could have their privacy.

After a few minutes, Adam appeared in the door, still in his pajamas but this time holding a beer.

“Really, dear boy?” said Aziraphale.

“Fuck it,” said Adam, cracking it open.  “I’m going to need a _lot_ of alcohol to deal with this.”

“How is he?”

“He fell asleep almost as soon as I put him on the couch.  Poor kid was exhausted.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment before Crowley began to count on his fingers.  “Let’s see, Aziraphale, your legion now consists of fifteen first-class warrior angels—including the archangel Michael himself—a horde of demonic field agents, traitors to their previous masters, including _the_ biggest traitor Hell has to offer _and_ a rogue archdemon, _two_ antichrists, a human with enough _chutzpah_ to talk back to anyone, and a hellhound in the shape of a Jack Russell mix—oh, and a cat.  Wouldn’t want to forget about Mittens.”

“Maybe I’ll start including her when she stops sharpening her claws on the shelves,” muttered Aziraphale. “My, this _is_ getting a bit crowded, isn’t it?”

“What was that thing I said was going to happen as soon as the new antichrist shows up?” said Crowley.

“ _Literally_ everyone Hell is after is under this roof right now,” said Adam hysterically through chugs of beer.  “We are _so_ fucked.” 

“Now hold on a minute,” said Aziraphale.  “Yes, all right, surely we’re bound to draw attention to ourselves now…  But we have the antichrist!  Armageddon can’t start unless someone can get him off of us. And we’re sitting in an anti-demon fortified residence with Heaven’s most enthusiastic demon-killer bloodthirsty on the roof.”  He leaned back.  “It’s going to take a _lot_ to get through us.”

“Well, they’re going to _bring_ a lot,” said Crowley, and snorted.  “ _Adam_ to kick everything off, and _Noah_ to see us through the flood.  Fitting.”

Aziraphale looked perturbed. “I’m going to reinforce the glyphs on the shop,” he said, scuttling away.

* * *

They thought it might be prudent to have Adam look after Noah, who slept until midday.  Adam spent some time talking to him in a low voice and only came out once halfway through to report that Noah wanted sweets.

“I think I know someone who can arrange that,” said Aziraphale, and at their request there was another tray of chocolate chip biscuits soon.

Finally, Adam finished his conversation with Noah.  Maltha had been hovering nearby with Beth and leapt to join them as soon as he came out.  

Adam was holding yet another beer, which he snapped open and began to drink with bravado.  “Well,” he said after belching.  “It seems Hell has _really_ learned from their mistake with me.”

“How do you mean?” said Crowley.

He took another swig of alcohol before continuing, “They gave him to an abusive fuckhole of a family this time so he would grow up to _hate_ the Earth instead of love it like I did.”

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale.

“It makes perfect sense,” said Crowley.  “If he hates it, he’s all the more likely to want to destroy it.  It’d make sure it actually goes off this time.”

“He’s only nine,” said Aziraphale, dismayed.  “How bad _was_ it?”

“Didn’t want to pry,” said Adam.  “But it sounds bad.  From what I can make of the situation, he had no idea there was anything special about him until Satan’s death, at which point a duke who had been keeping an eye on him—whose name he doesn’t know—snatched him up and took him to Hell, claiming to be escorting him for the funeral.  I think they were trying to use their position as Noah’s caretaker as leverage for the claim that they should be the one to succeed Satan.”

“As a regent ruler until Noah grows up,” said Maltha.  “If Noah were to be Satan’s successor, he would need a duke or an archdemon to sit on the throne until he was old enough.”

“But obviously something must have went wrong,” prompted Aziraphale.

“Noah hated Hell even more than he hated Earth.”  Adam took another sip.  “And he didn’t like all the attention he was getting.  So he ran away.  I think he’s just been wandering around by himself!  The little guy is all worn out.  I think he decided that going to his ‘enemies’ would finally end everything.”

Hence Noah’s tearful insistence that Aziraphale should kill him.  “Poor kid,” said Crowley.

“What did they tell him about us?” said Aziraphale.

“That you had murdered me, apparently.  He thought Aziraphale was a vicious warlord trying to usurp Hell’s throne.  He was under the impression you were actively trying to hunt him down.  I’m not sure if they lied to him to make him scared or if that’s what _they_ really believe.”

Crowley snorted, trying to hide his laughter.  Aziraphale swallowed his protest that he _could_ be vicious if he felt inclined.  “Well, did you set him straight?” he said instead.

“Yes,” said Adam, with a small laugh.  “We should go talk to him.”

Noah was sitting on the couch in the back room with his short legs dangling off it.  He was petting Dog, who was sitting contentedly on his lap, and didn’t look up at them as they entered. 

Adam took his place on the couch next to Noah.  “Now, Noah has something he’d like to say to you.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said to Crowley.  Then to Aziraphale, “I’m sorry I broke your door.”

When he said nothing else, Adam prodded him with his foot, and he continued, “I was upset, but that’s not an excuse.”

“That’s all right, young man,” said Aziraphale.  “I see someone has already cleaned it up and fixed the door.”

“That was Adramelech,” said Adam.  “Said the mess was intolerable.”

“Thought that might be the case.  Noah, are you finding your stay here enjoyable so far?”

He nodded.

Aziraphale suddenly noticed that Botis had taken up position guarding the entryway to the back room where they were having their conference. He leaned off the couch to peer at him. “Botis?”

Botis swung around to face him.

“Is everything all right?”

Botis’s face peeled into a facial expression it took a moment to register as a smile.  The size of his canine teeth made the effect rather unsettling.  “Everything is under control, lord.”

Botis turned back around without waiting for a reply.  Aziraphale looked at his back strangely.  “…All right. Where were we?” 

“I like the dog,” said Noah, rubbing Dog’s ear.  “But the cat keeps running away from me.”

“That’s probably for the best,” said Crowley.  “Abraxas is very particular about who touches her.”

“Noah, I want you to feel safe here,” said Aziraphale.  “Whatever they told you about us, just forget it, all right?”

“I was so happy,” said Noah. “They said my father wasn’t my _real_ father, but then it turns out my _real_ father is someone everyone hates even more. I hate this.  I wish this would all go away.”

They all shifted uncomfortably.  “Noah, you can put that all behind you now.”

“You’re probably just going to hurt me too.”

“Hey, come on,” said Adam, taking Noah’s hand in his own.  “That’s not true.  We talked about this.”

He looked at his feet.

“You were really opening up to me earlier.”

“I don’t like them,” said Noah, casting his glance at the demons in the room.

Adam sighed.

Aziraphale caught out of the corner of his eye that Oryss and two other demons had appeared in the doorway and were speaking rapidly to Botis in low, harsh whispers.

Aziraphale leaned out again. “Is something going on?”

The other demons disappeared from the doorway, leaving Botis alone once more.  “Nothing you need to trouble yourself about, lord.  You have an important guest.”

The way Botis stood blocking the only entrance to the room with a hawkish gaze was indicative of anything but _nothing._  “Are you sure?”

“Certainly, lord.”

“…All right.” Aziraphale turned back towards Noah.

“He didn’t have good experiences in Hell,” said Adam.

“As if anybody ever has,” muttered Crowley .

“Well, yes but… I mean, he was being held by higher-ups that were using him as a tool.  Everyone was fighting over him.  Tell me that doesn’t sound terrifying to a nine-year-old, even if it _wasn’t_ taking place in Hell.”

They all looked at Noah, who was quietly absorbed in petting Dog, trying to pretend like they weren’t talking about him.

Maltha leaned off the couch. “Hey, Noah?”

He looked up at her with discomfort.

“The people from Hell were scary, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounded like he wanted to cry.

“Well, you know what the secret is to dealing with scary monsters?”  She gave him a fang-laden grin.  “Get a scarier monster.  I’ll have you know most of those people you’re scared of are scared of _me._ ”

Noah looked her up and down, as if he did not quite believe her.

She tapped her temple. “I’m a lot tougher than I look, and they all know it.  So if you ever need help, you can count on me, you got it?”

“All right,” said Noah, though it sounded like he was only agreeing to get the attention off himself.

“It sounds like whoever had him in Hell tried to get him to use his powers prematurely,” said Adam.

Aziraphale’s eyes fell to Noah.  “So he doesn’t know how to use them yet?”

“I don’t think so,” said Adam.  “At least, not consciously.  When I was his age, I was affecting things without realizing it, but the floodgate of being able to make _decisions_ didn’t open until I figured it out under the right stress.” __

 _Stress._ If they were crueler, they might have been able to persuade Noah to unlock his Satanic powers.  That would make him the most powerful being in this chess game, after all. There was no telling what might happen if they were to do that, though. Noah seemed much less emotionally stable than Adam, and more prone to manipulation.  If he started using his powers, it might _start_ Armageddon instead of help them.

“Angel,” murmured Crowley from beside him.  “I can tell what you’re thinking. We can’t put Noah in battle.  He’s a child.”

“Er…” said Aziraphale, flushing.  There was no use trying to defend himself. Crowley knew him too well.  “Well, protecting Noah has to be our first priority.”

Abraxas was now in the doorway, speaking angrily and with a significant amount of hand gestures, but too quietly to hear.  Botis stayed planted firmly in the doorway.  Abraxas made a move to go past him, but he matched her movement and blocked her.

“Is there something you needed, Abraxas?” said Aziraphale, raising his voice.

Abraxas looked at Aziraphale with inexplicable guilt.

“Abraxas was just leaving,” said Botis. “Isn’t that right?”

“Nothing, lord,” said Abraxas, turning away from the back room.

“What’s happening out there?” muttered Crowley.

“Er…I’m sure Botis has it under control,” said Aziraphale.

Maltha looked out the doorway, unconvinced.

“Anyway,” said Aziraphale. “Protecting Noah should be our priority. Can we…I don’t know, get reinforcements from somewhere? Surely Heaven could send down some more warriors?”

“Angel, have you forgotten so soon?” said Crowley.  “Heaven _wants_ the war.  I’m positive they’ve no idea what’s going on down here, or they’d be demanding Michael come back up and abandon us so the matter of Satan’s successor could be settled and they can get on with fighting.  If we contact them, they’ll probably order us to give the antichrist to the first archdemon who comes along.  Not to mention we just barely managed to convince the last batch of warriors not to kill _us_ instead.  I don’t have a lot of confidence we’ll be able to do it again.”

“Oooh, I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale fretted.  “What about Hell? Maltha? Can you think of any potential allies?”

Maltha appeared deep in thought.

Adramelech was now speaking to Botis.  Aziraphale could tell something was wrong by two things: One, that Adramelech had not taken the time to put on any of his gaudy jewelry; and two, he was holding Mittens, who was shedding fur all over the colourful clothing he was so fussy about. Dog started barking as soon as Mittens was in his line of vision.

Aziraphale got up off the couch. Adramelech disappeared before he could reach the doorway.

“Botis,” said Aziraphale in a strained whisper.  “ _What_ is going on?”

Botis pulled Aziraphale aside and whispered very quickly. “We did not want to alarm either of the antichrists, but we have reason to believe someone within our ranks is scheming against your wishes.”  

“What?” said Aziraphale, alarmed.

“Please stay back here where I can guard you until we have completed our investigation.  I will let no harm come to you as long as I’m still standing.”

Aziraphale sat back down on the couch, grimacing.

“What’s going on, angel?”

Aziraphale looked at Noah, still red from crying, thinking of how he was already nervous around them. Botis had been exactly right to not say it in front of him.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Aziraphale.  “Where were we? Maltha?  Any chance of reinforcements?”

“I think,” said Maltha slowly, “that if we were to extend a request for help to Mammon, she would come to our aid.”

“The archdemon of Greed?” said Aziraphale.

“Yes.”

“Oh.  Ah…all right then.”  Two archdemons and an archangel would make them a very formidable foe to reckon with indeed.  “How do we contact her?”

“Unfortunately I have not spoken with her in millenia,” said Maltha.  “I have no way of reaching her.”

Crowley sighed and put his head in his hands.

Botis suddenly darted away from the doorway with a yell.  An explosion of movement erupted in the next room to a chorus of yells, accompanied by the sound of bodies slamming to the ground.

Alarmed, everyone but Noah rose from their seats.

“Stay here with him,” said Aziraphale to Adam.  “Maltha, Crowley, come on.”

They came out to find a group of demons had dogpiled someone on the floor.  Botis immediately moved to put himself between them and Aziraphale.

“ _What’s_ going on?” he said. 

“Sir!” said Botis, saluting. “There’s no need to be alarmed! We’ve got the situation under control! Now that we’ve got this sorted out, you can pass your judgement.”

“….judgement?” said Aziraphale, not liking the sound of it.

“Lord Aziraphale!” said Oryss, her head sticking up from the dogpile.  “Abraxas was going to murder the antichrist!”

Aziraphale stood there stunned.  “Wh-what?”

The demons slowly untangled themselves, revealing a very unhappy Abraxas on the very bottom, scuffed up and being held by multiple pairs of arms.

“She wouldn’t,” said Aziraphale.  “None of you would do something like that.” 

Adramelech came forwards with a shiny metal object and bowed as he presented it to Aziraphale.

“This is the Golden Dagger of Meggido!” exclaimed Aziraphale, weighing the weapon in his hand. “Where did this come from?”

“Abraxas had it,” said Adramelech.

Aziraphale looked at Abraxas.  “Is…Is this true?  You were going to try and murder Noah?”

Abraxas bit her lip. “Master, I thought I could save you from having to make the decision—”

“You _were_ ,” said Aziraphale, dismayed.  “You were going to murder this child right after I had offered him protection!  What were you _thinking?_ ”

“I was thinking of the Earth!” she burst out.  “That’s all I was thinking of!  That’s all I ever wanted!  It can’t be destroyed if _he’s_ not around to do it! I-I was….” Her voice dropped.  “I was thinking of all the innocent animals…the cats, the dogs, the—”

“Dolphins,” said Crowley, putting his hands in his pockets.  “Gorillas.”

Abraxas nodded. “Master, I only wanted….I thought it might be for the best…I didn’t realize...I—”

“This was a mistake, Abraxas.  You realize that?  Our guest has just come from the hands of people who wished to abuse and manipulate him. We had to show him we were different. And now this.”

“F-forgive me, master,” said Abraxas.  “I…I won’t do it again.  He needn’t know.”

Aziraphale looked from Abraxas to the dagger to the back room, where both Adam and Noah were looking out with wide eyes.  It seemed it was a bit too late for Noah not to know.

This was it, he supposed. You couldn’t take in a horde of demons who all had free will and then expect them all to be perfectly obedient to you.  Would he have fallen in love with Crowley if he was a docile and submissive creature? Would Abraxas have abandoned her former master to fight for Earth had she been flawlessly loyal?

Would any of these demons have disobeyed Hell if they were not also willing to disobey him?

They seemed to be able to tell what he was thinking, and they all stood around gripping Abraxas tightly. Their eagerness to catch her and bring the problem to him already resolved suddenly made perfect sense.

Wills of their own. Doing what _they_ thought was right, rather than what they were told. That was the essence of the problem, wasn’t it? That was what Heaven always got upset about. That was what Hell made a fuss over. That was what had gotten every supernatural entity in this building in trouble at one point or another.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Maltha leaned over him to whisper into his ear.  “You can’t let her off easy.”

“What?” said Aziraphale, strained.  “You’re saying I should be just like any demon lord and—”

“No,” Maltha cut him off. “It doesn’t need to be extreme, but you _must_ punish her.  If you don’t make it explicit that they need to do what you _say_ instead of what _they_ think you want, you’ll lose control of them. And you need to show Noah you’re serious about respecting him, or you’ll have no hope of winning him over to the cause of the Earth.”

Aziraphale looked down at Abraxas, who was on her knees.  Mittens had appeared and was rubbing against her, but she ignored the cat, her eyes wide and desperate on Aziraphale.

It did not seem right. How could he demand unquestioning obedience when he himself had never been unquestioningly obedient? When that was what brought him and Crowley together?

But it didn’t seem right to _not_ do it either.  Abraxas had been about to murder a _child._  And then he flushed with guilt, knowing he had once done the same thing, and he scrambled to find some justification for himself that would not also apply to Abraxas, but he was failing.

“Aziraphale,” said Maltha into his ear again, a bit testily.  “You are the lord.  This is what being a ruler is about.  Making difficult decisions.  Do not let them see that you are not able to deal with that responsibility.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale with a sigh.  “Abraxas, you must be punished for this.”

She swallowed and said miserably, “Of course, master.  I’ll accept whatever punishment you give me.”

Aziraphale could feel the eyes of the other demons on him.  This was it. He had to set a precedent.  It had to be appropriate.  He found himself able to only think of things that would be far too light, that they, who were used to prolonged torture for their mistakes, probably wouldn’t even consider punishment.  

But he couldn’t do anything like that!  He was an angel, and these demons…

He had grown to care for them more than he’d like to admit.  He could never do something like that to anyone he saw so much of Crowley in.

He swallowed, an idea forming in his mind.  “I suppose…it’d only be fair that, since Noah was your intended victim, that he decides what should be done with you.”

“No!” said Abraxas immediately, total panic overwhelming her features.  “Master, _please._  If he is anything like his f-father…”

The other demons had gone pale and weren’t making eye contact with him.  He suspected he might have made a mistake, but it was too late to take it back now.  He turned to Crowley.  “Go get him, would you, please?”

Abraxas had been doing an admirable job of controlling her emotions until the tears started leaking from her eyes.  “Master, I beg you to have mercy.  I made a mistake, I won’t do it again, I won’t…”

Noah had a blank look on his face as he came into the room, Adam still holding his hand.   _Dear God, maybe this is a bad idea after all_ , thought Aziraphale.  What if he picked something extremely harsh?  Would he have to go through with it?  Could he pull back and decide something else? __

If Noah turned out to be a sadist who demanded Abraxas be tortured, he realized suddenly, that wouldn’t bode well for his opinion of what should be done with the Earth…

“Why’s she doing that?” said Noah as Abraxas cowered and bowed to him.

“You’d do well to get used to people doing that to you,” said Maltha softly.

“Noah,” said Aziraphale, but then words failed him, paralyzed with indecision.

“Angel,” said Crowley, nudging him.  “Do it, or don’t.”

“Noah,” said Aziraphale, plunging forwards, “this is Abraxas.  She had planned to do something very bad, She—She thought that you were dangerous, and decided it would be better to get rid of you.”

“You mean she was going to kill me,” said Noah, flustered.  “I’m not stupid.  I knew you weren’t going to be any different.”

“Wait, Noah,” said Aziraphale.  “We are different.  We want to keep you safe, we want you to—to know that we’re not going to manipulate you or control you.  So we’re going to let you decide what punishment she gets.”

Abraxas let out a quiet whimper, balling her hands into fists. 

“I get to decide?” said Noah.  “I can make you do whatever I want to her?”

Aziraphale did not like the way he had phrased that, but nonetheless answered, “Yes.”

Noah had an “eye-for-an-eye” look on his face, and opened his mouth to speak.  Adam swooped in and took his hand.  “Noah, come over here for a minute, I want to talk to you.”

He pulled the boy into the corner and knelt down to speak to him quietly.  “Noah, have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Be the change you want to see in the world’?”

Noah shook his hood.

“I’ll tell you what it means, then.  It means that if you want to make the world better, you have to start by behaving the way you think everyone should behave.  This way, others will see you and follow your example.  Does that make sense?”

Noah nodded.

“Noah, you’ve never had power over anyone else, have you?  You’ve never gotten to decide anything like this before, have you?”

A shake of the head.

“Well, there was one point in time when I held power over the entire _world_.  I could have done _whatever_ I wanted with it.  I wasn’t much older than you, but I had something you didn’t: I had my friends with me.  And they helped me realize something.  If you have power, you must _always_ use it to be kind to others.  Do you remember what Hell was like?”

Nod.

“Did you like it?”

“No.  It was awful.”

“That is what happens when someone who has power does not use it to be kind.  Do you want Earth to be like that too?  Or would you like it to be better?”

“I want it to be better than that.”

“Okay.  Listen, I’ve also learned something about people, and it also applies to these people, ‘cause they’re almost people.  If you’re kind to them, they will usually return the favor.  Even if they’ve done things you’re angry at them for, if you try to get along with them anyway, sometimes they can turn out to be great friends who will come through for you when you need them.”  He glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley, who seemed to miss the meaning of what he had said.

He gestured to Abraxas. “Look at her face, Noah.  What does she look like?  What do you think she’s feeling?”

“She’s scared.”

“It’s because you have power over her.  You’ve been in that position, haven’t you?  Think about your father—your human father, not Satan.  Weren’t there plenty of times when you were scared like that because of the power he had over you?”

“Yes.”

“And when that happened, what did you wish for?  What did you want to happen?”

“I wished he would be gentler with me.”

Adam patted him on the shoulder, then steered him back over towards the group.  “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

All eyes were on Noah, who was now red and dawdling with indecision.

“You won’t do it again?” he finally said.

“No,” sobbed Abraxas. “I won’t.  It was a mistake.  Please forgive me.”

Noah squared his shoulders. “Then I’ve decided.  For your punishment, you…. You have to let me hold your cat.”

Abraxas did not seem to understand at first, and remained on her knees processing it.  “Oh,” she said after a moment, sagging with relief. “A-all right.  Of course.”

Mittens let out a _mrrow_ of protest as she was lifted off the ground and handed gently to Noah, whose arms were almost too small to hold such a fat animal. 

Abraxas cautiously put her hand on Noah’s shoulder, still sniffling.  “She-she’s very soft, isn’t she?”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Noah, burying his face in Mittens’s flank.  “We had a cat at home, but Papa would always kick him and he didn’t like to be touched.”

“W-Well, that’s not the proper way to do it.”

“I know.”

“I think she likes you, young master.”

Noah’s eyes looked glazed. “Young master?”

Abraxas nodded, her face still splotchy.

Heavy footsteps sounded upstairs.  The cat, who by now had learned to flee the sound of Michael’s approach or suffer his affection, squirmed violently and leapt from Noah’s arms.

“ _Shit,_ ” said Aziraphale, diving between Noah and the stairs. None too early:  Michael appeared, clomping down them, looking excited.

“I heard something going on down here,” he said as Angelo finally caught up with him, out of breath.

Michael might not have noticed Noah camouflaged behind Aziraphale’s legs had the child not spoken. 

“Who’s that?” said Noah. 

Michael’s eyes flew down to the antichrist.  Aziraphale cringed.  

“Who’s that?” Michael repeated.  He knelt down.  Noah drew further behind Aziraphale.

“That’s…” Angelo gasped. “That’s the antichrist!”

“ _That’s_ the antichrist?” said Michael.

“Er…well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted.

They all waited for a tense second, then another, holding their breath for Michael’s response.

“He’s…” the archangel said, eyes watering.  “He’s so _cute_.”

“Hold on,” said Angelo, sounding alarmed.  “How did we get the new antichrist?”

“He just kind of showed up,” said Crowley.

“He just _showed up?_ ”

“I got tired,” said Noah, as if that explaining anything at all.

Angelo’s dark face was growing pale.  “Aziraphale…you realize what this means?  Don’t you? Surely we all do?”

Absolute delight danced on Michael’s face.  “They’re finally coming.  All of Hell.” 


	9. The Battle of Soho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/159090258795/aziraphales-legion-part-9-the-battle-of-soho

It was not a dark and stormy night.  Precisely the opposite, in fact.  It was a warm, cheerful morning.  The birds were chirping. The flowers were bouncing and beautiful.  The sunbeams cast their glow on the pavement, bathing Soho in friendly energy.

But there were evil forces about.  And they were no longer lurking.  They were moving.

* * *

Adramelech and Oryss had gone out to the store earlier in the day, and Botis was on his usual patrol when he spotted them running back at top speed, along with the third member of their trio, that angel who always accompanied them. 

All three dove into the front door of the bookshop, panting.  Botis swooped down and joined them.  “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got company,” said Adramelech, scrambling to get further into the shop.

* * *

“How many were there?”

The warrior angel who had been with them grimaced.  “Hundreds.”

Michael, Victoria, Angelo, Aziraphale, Crowley, and Maltha were all at the table in the back room as a makeshift command center, with the rest of the angels and demons crowding around them to try and hear the conversation.  Beth and Adam had wisely taken Noah out of earshot.

“Let’s not panic,” said Aziraphale.  “We knew this was going to happen eventually.”

Michael tapped his foot. “What ranks are we talking?  Did you get a good sense for the composition of the force?”

“As far as I could tell, there was only one archdemon,” said Oryss.  “Agares.”

“ _Her,_ ” spat a voice, and Abraxas pushed her way to the front to stand beside Aziraphale.  “Lord, I used to work under Agares.  She has been gradually winning the support of other high ranks in Hell.  When I left, she had a smattering of dukes convinced to support her bid for the throne.  I’ve heard she’s since pulled more over to her side.”

“There _were_ dukes with her,” said Adramelech.  “I recognized some of them.”

“How many?” pressed Victoria.

Adramelech’s eyes fell to the warrior angels at the table, as though he were trying to calculate if they outnumbered the dukes.  He did not look optimistic.  “Erm… a lot,” he finally answered. 

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance they’re on the way to join our ranks, is there?” said Crowley, sighing.

“I can kill Agares,” said Michael, slamming his hands on the table, clattering everything on it.  “Let me at her.”

“We need to strategize more than that, Michael,” said Angelo.  “While you’re engaging the archdemon, the rest of us will need to deal with the rest of the force.  It sounds quite sizeable.”

“I will occupy the attention of the higher ranks while Michael engages Agares,” said Maltha.  “I would be surprised if the dukes didn’t scatter in fear when they saw me.  I won’t let any harm come to this battalion.”

 _Battalion._  It was a rather strong word for the ragtag group that had accumulated in Aziraphale’s shop.  “Where shall we position Noah?” said Aziraphale.  “Surely he’s the target of this sudden visit. It’s come too close to his arrival for it to be coincidental.”

“We should draw some extra protective sigils and fortify the back room for him and Adam,” suggested Crowley.  

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale, “will you take care of that?”

The power nodded.

“Maltha, _please_ make sure Beth goes with them.  If you get distracted it could be fatal for us.”

“Don’t worry, I fully intend to keep her away from the battle,” Maltha replied.

“How much time have we got until they get here?”

“They were still pretty far off when we sensed them,” said Oryss.  “But they were moving very fast.  I wouldn’t count on more than twenty minutes or so.”

“We should meet them head-on on the roof,” said Michael.

“That is _exceedingly_ dangerous!” said Aziraphale.  “We should stay in the shop where it’s barricaded with anti-demon sigils. That’s only common sense.”

“Michael is right, unfortunately,” said Victoria.  “Not that I don’t admire your spellwork, Aziraphale, but with that many demons trying, they’ll find a way through it eventually.  That could put us in a worse position or leave us trying to fight them off inside the shop.  If we meet them as they arrive while everyone is prepared, it would probably be the best chance to present a strong, unified face and keep them away as far away from Noah as possible.”

“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale fussed, not sure why he had tried to overrule two warriors on the matter. “Abraxas, you said you used to work under Agares?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think she’ll do?  What strategy will she use?”

Abraxas thought for a moment.  “She will try to intimidate us.”

Aziraphale looked to the tight, anxious faces of those around him and thought that it was already working.  “All right.” He stood and clapped.  “All right!  Everyone get your weapons!  And armor, if you have it!  Convene on the roof as soon as you’re ready.”

A few minutes’ time found Aziraphale and Crowley in their bedroom, helping each other into their armor.  They could hear Maltha trying to convince Beth to stay in the protective circle they had drawn for Noah and Adam from all the way downstairs.  It did not turn out to be as easy as anticipated, because Beth wanted to go on the roof for some god-forsaken reason.  They could also hear Adam’s voice talking indistinctly trying to convince her, but Beth seemed annoyed that Maltha wanted to “stick her in the corner” during the fight.

“I want to watch!”

“Beth, that’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not, because you’ll protect me.”

“I have to focus on the battle!”

“Listen, if they manage to get past you, being in the shop isn’t going to keep me safe either, so it doesn’t make any difference whether I’m just behind the front lines or in here anyway.”

“Beth, yes it does!”

They went round and round in this manner until they managed to convince her by saying that her job was to watch after Noah, which was very important, perhaps even more important than fighting the demons on the front lines!

“Glad they got that settled,” said Crowley said, strapping Aziraphale’s leg bracers on.  “What is wrong with that woman?”

“Well, she _is_ with an archdemon,” said Aziraphale, then tactfully did not elaborate further.  “Let’s get you into your armor next.” 

Crowley did in fact have a suit of armor, but it was leather armor, made for speed and flexibility, nothing like Aziraphale’s heavy suit.  Aziraphale had seen him wearing it exactly once, in ancient Egypt during events he would rather forget.  Seeing him in it now made him want to tear it off again and have him right there on the bed, but obviously that wouldn’t do with the circumstances.

Aziraphale always felt rather clunky in his own armor.  He manifested his sword and sheathed it.

“Go on and get your weapon, my dear.”

Crowley waved his hand, and a staff appeared, symbols carved all along its length leading up to an icon with wings sprouting out from it.

“Your weapon,” Aziraphale repeated.

“This _is_ my weapon,” said Crowley, colouring.  “I’m a healer, remember?”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “I…had forgotten.”

He tapped the staff on the ground.  “Aziraphale, we’re _so_ screwed.”  This was worse than going against Satan with no weapon, because now there was a slim chance they could come out alive, and sometimes a spark of hope is crueler than none at all.

“We’re _not_ ,” said Aziraphale, stroking his cheek.  “I promise you.”

“Aziraphale, what if… What if I end up back down there? At their mercy again?”

Aziraphale grabbed his arm. “Don’t think about that.  It’s not going to happen.  I would die before I let that happen.”

“Don’t.”

“Hm?”

“If you’re dead there’d be no one to rescue me.”

Aziraphale engulfed him in an embrace.  “Don’t think about that.”

“Aziraphale, please, I-I…I can’t take the thought of being there again...If this goes sideways and it’s obvious it’s going to happen, _please_ kill me instead.”

The arms tightened around him.  “I won’t. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Angel, please!  Stop being selfish!”

Aziraphale drew back, eyeing him up, realizing he was exactly right yet again.  That Aziraphale was selfish.  Would he be able to do that?  Kill him for the sake of mercy?

“Okay, I promise,” he said, and he did not know whether or not he was lying.  “But it won’t come to that.  I won’t leave your side.”

Crowley looked down, seemingly unconvinced.

“Hey, you’ve got an important job.  You’ve got to make sure the big boss doesn’t die of his injuries, hm?”  


“I think I can do that,” said Crowley.  “I should be able to.  I’m a healer. I _can._ ”

Angelo appeared in the doorway, clad in armor with a bow slung across his body.  “Aziraphale, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The way he was looking at Crowley indicated he wanted it to be alone.  Aziraphale gave Crowley a squeeze on his shoulder.  “Give us a minute, won’t you?”

Aziraphale stood with Angelo in the hallway. Angelo maneuvered him into the furthest corner, apparently paranoid of being overhead.

“What is it, Angelo?”

“Listen, I don’t know exactly how to say this,” said Angelo.  “But I just thought you should know that if Michael falls here, Heaven has no chance of winning the war.”

“What?” said Aziraphale, stunned.  “What do you mean?”

“Michael was specially crafted.  There’s no angel that can take his place in the ineffable plan for the war. Everything was set up perfectly so that if everything was according to plan, Heaven would have no chance of losing, but we’ve been off-script ever since Adam’s rebellion when he was eleven.”

“But…” said Aziraphale, struggling to process what Angelo was saying.  “Surely _He_ wouldn’t allow Hell to win? God?”

“Mysterious ways,” said Angelo helplessly.

“Fuck,” said Aziraphale.

“I just thought you should know,” said Angelo testily, “that your actions have consequences, Aziraphale.  I know I won’t be able to get Michael to leave because he wants this so badly, but there’s a lot more riding on this than just who gets to keep Noah.”

Aziraphale wrung is hands. “All right, Angelo.  You’re good at this sort of thing.  Be honest with me. What do you think our chances are?”

Angelo rubbed his temples. “I don’t know, Aziraphale. I honestly don’t know.  I think it’s actually unlikely that Michael would be killed here, but he’s not really the one I’m worried about.”

Aziraphale grimaced.

“I know you’re attached to the Earth,” said Angelo.  “And I…I think I’m starting to see why you might be attached to these demons as well. But I’m saying this as a friend:  You need to consider the possibility that you might lose them.  It’s a very real likelihood.”

“But with Michael here—”

“Frankly, Michael is going to hold his own in battle, but there’s only so much he can do. He’s meant for offense, not defense.  He and his warriors can’t keep everyone out of the shop by themselves.  That means someone _is_ going to get in and take Noah unless someone else holds them off, and I’m not convinced Maltha can do that on her own. Do you understand what I’m saying? You need to evaluate your priorities here.  Are you willing to throw your life away if we can’t win here?  Just for the sake of this planet?”

Aziraphale felt his anger rising up. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he burst out.  “You think I hadn’t thought of that already? You think I’d be here right now if I wasn’t already willing to die?”

Angelo fixed him with a very hard look.  “I do hope you realize you are making a vow you might be asked to stand by in a few minutes, Aziraphale.”

“If you brought me aside to try and convince me to give up before the battle’s even started, you can forget it, Angelo.”

Angelo sighed.  “All right, Aziraphale.  I’m sorry.  In that case, we should focus.  To be honest, I think we _do_ have a shot at winning.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “What’s our best option?”

“Things are a bit different fighting up here on Earth.  Hell is these demons’ home turf, so they’ll be more cautious up here.  Agares has probably promised them an easy fight not knowing Michael is here.  And I suspect most of them are only with her because they think she’s going to win and want to be on the side of whoever takes the throne to save their own skin.  Nobody here is going to be too eager to throw themselves in front of the Sword of Heaven in her absence.  If we can kill Agares, I think the rest will lose their will to fight and give up.”

“Cutting off the head of the snake, so to speak,” said Aziraphale, who then felt guilty for using that analogy.

“Right,” said Angelo. “But don’t get too excited, because it’s not as easy as it sounds.  Michael could beat Agares no sweat in a one-on-one, but she’s going to have a massive amount of support with her. All of Michael’s warriors need to be supporting him in the fight so that he can take her full attention.  Which means they won’t be able to help you and your demons in the fight.”

“But…” said Aziraphale. “Angelo, these demons are field agents, not warriors.  Maltha is…well, in a class of her own, but I don’t know how much she can do by herself.”

“Hence why I was trying to emphasize,” said Angelo, with no small amount of irritation, “that you going into this battle is basically sending them into a meat grinder. They’ve attached themselves to you, so if you’re willing to die, that means you also have to be willing to watch them die _for_ you.  That includes Crowley.  Do you finally get what I’m saying?” 

He did.  He had sort of been in denial, because he had a tendency to assume things would just work out for the better, but it finally hit him like a ton of bricks.  If these demons were serious about their vows, and it appeared that they were, that meant that they would die before him.  Because they wanted to protect him.

No, he suddenly realized. Not him.  He thought of Maltha’s words.   _A rallying cry._  They had only pledged themselves to him as a proxy for the Earth. What was he to do?  Give up the antichrist and start the war to keep them safe? Order them away? 

They were here because they wanted to be.  Because they _would_ rather die than see the Earth be destroyed.  They would stand by him just as Crowley had against Satan. 

They had their own little side here, and maybe it was going to be completely obliterated in a few minutes, but damn him if they weren’t going to put up a fight first.  Somebody had to.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you, Angelo. I understand. I don’t take this lightly.”

Angelo put his helmet on and began to walk away.  “Make sure you keep your demons out from in front of Michael, because in the heat of battle I’m not sure if he’ll be able to tell the difference.”

“All right.  Thank you.  Let’s get ready and get up on the roof.”

“See you up there.”

Crowley was leaning on his staff when he came back into the bedroom.  “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Let’s do this.  Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds.  Aziraphale strode forwards and kissed him deeply.  Crowley returned it. 

Aziraphale broke off and took his hand.  “All right. _Now_ I’m ready. Let’s go.”

They peeked into the back room for one last check.  Adam was sitting with his legs crossed in the center of a series of circles painted on the floor, and Beth was next to him with Noah on her lap.  All three waved at them. They waved back before leaving.

They made their way up to the roof. It seemed they were the last ones to arrive.  The warrior angels were surrounding Michael on one side, talking in loud, boisterous voices.  The demons were on the other, dressed in armor and cloaks and things decorated with bones and skulls and daggers.  It seemed to fit them all poorly.  They gathered around Aziraphale as he came near.

“I just wanted to thank you,” said Aziraphale, noting that not a single one of them had run, “for your tremendous loyalty.  I never would have thought I could ask so much from all of you.”

“Hail Aziraphale!” yelled a demon, and they all cheered.  Aziraphale could not help but think they wouldn’t be cheering in a few minutes.

Maltha seemed to share his thoughts by the look on her face.  She was perched near the edge of the roof, looking positively terrible* in her armor, but like Crowley she only had a staff for a weapon.  Aziraphale wondered what it would look like when she actually fought.  This was the archdemon who had given Satan a run for his money, after all.

*in the old sense of inspiring terror

Crowley seemed to be thinking the same thing.  “Hold on, angel, I’ll be right back.”

Angelo and a pair of warrior angels engaged Maltha in a discussion as he approached them, and Crowley waited patiently for them to finish before coming up to her.  Angelo left, but the warrior angels continued to hover nearby.  Maltha excused herself and came over to Crowley.

“What is it?”

“Maltha,” said Crowley. “Do you use your staff as a weapon?”

“Yes.”

Crowley tapped his own staff on the ground.  “Could you…I don’t know…Could you show me how to do that?  I don’t know how to use mine for anything but healing.  It’d be nice to be able to defend myself for a change.”

Maltha looked back at the warrior angels, then at him hesitantly.

“Are they bothering you?”

“No, they have volunteered to support me instead of Michael.”

“ _What?_ ”

“They thought I should have backup too, apparently.  The way I see it, we all need to work together if we’re going to win this fight. I really need to get back to them so we can strategize.”

“Could you just show me real quick?”

“Crowley, we might only have a few minutes before they arrive.  I don’t think you can master a new combat style before the fight.  You should focus on your role as a healer for now.”

Crowley deflated.  “Oh.  I guess you’re right.  I just thought…well, you’re the only one who could show me how, and….”

“Maltha, we need to discuss our positions,” said one of the warrior angels behind her.

Maltha looked from the warriors back to Crowley’s disappointed face, then sighed and put a hand on his staff.  “Here, you’re holding it wrong.”

She shifted his grip so that he was holding it like a baseball bat.  “Okay, you know how when you heal, you form an image in your mind of the injury being whole, and then use your aura to shape reality to make it match?”

“Yeah.”

“You do the same thing, except you are picturing _causing_ an injury instead.”  She leaned over and guided his arms into a swing.  “Just imagine—sever the spinal cord, crush the vertebrae, then give it a good _whack_.  That’s the power of your domain of life—you don’t have to use it as intended.”

“I see,” said Crowley.

“Maltha, we don’t have any time to lose,” prompted the angel again.

“Just one moment,” said Maltha.  “The only difference is your opponent won’t be sitting still to let you do it like a patient would, so you’ll need to impart the full force of your willpower concentrated in a single blow.”  She looked him up and down.  “No offense, but I’m not sure how effective it would be from someone of your aura strength.”

“All right,” said Crowley. “Thank you.  I won’t let you down.”

He finally let her move back to the warriors.  Crowley went back to his own angel, clutching his staff with a newfound appreciation.

“What was that about?” Aziraphale asked him.

“I was—er—trying to learn Maltha’s combat style.”

“Is that what it was? Well, do you feel like a warrior now?”

He fidgeted, looking over the horizon where the demonic hoards were fated to appear.  “Not really.”

Aziraphale took his hand. “Well, we’ll just have to make sure you don’t need to try it out, then.  You just stay behind me.”

The two of them watched Michael, who seemed in a much better mood as he laughed and joked with the warriors helping him get ready.  When the archangel snapped up and got a much more serious look on his face, Aziraphale knew something was about to happen.

“They’re coming!” said Michael.

As he spoke, Aziraphale could feel the demonic presence drawing nearer.  He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.  “All right, everyone, let’s get into place.”

Botis jogged up to his side. “Sir, please let me—”

“Whatever you want, Botis, just get into position.”

Botis drew his sword and stood in front of Aziraphale.  Aziraphale tapped him and gestured for him to not block his view, and he moved over, sheepishly.

Six of Michael’s angels and thirteen of the demons were archers, and they came towards the front. Michael ripped his wings out and launched into the air, already shaking with excitement.  The rest of the group reluctantly let their wings loose as well.

The evil presence was drawing incredibly close now.  “Get ready!” said Aziraphale, drawing his own sword.  “But don’t attack until they make the first move.”

It started with a single imp, appearing on the spire of a clock tower in the distance and hopping from rooftop to rooftop like a great frog until it was on the building across the street from the shop, sneering at them.  More followed, streaming through the air, landing like a flock of bats, gradually increasing in size and ferocity.  They spread along the roof and spilled over onto the adjacent buildings and the street below, jostling and jeering and already yelling threats.

Crowley was startled to see Duke Hastur among them, perching at the very front, sneering at him specifically.  They were too far away from each other to hear anything over the background noise, but it looked like Hastur might have liked to have shouted something at him.

A _boom_ sounded, rattling the windowpanes, and Agares appeared from over the building across the street.

Agares was in her biggest, most monstrous form.  Her crocodile-like snout flowed into a curving, bulky neck, with three pairs of enormous wings stretched wide to block out the sky.  Her claws scraped the stone as she hauled herself up, and her mouth fell open, revealing rows and rows of conical teeth.  Three pairs of predatory eyes raked over the group gathered opposite her.

Aziraphale felt his stomach sinking as he assessed the enemy force.  Even with Michael and his warriors, this was going to be a bloodbath, and _not_ in favour of Aziraphale’s side.

He looked over his shoulder and spotted Oryss.  Good, sweet Oryss, whom he had promised would get back to her own angel.

Then he looked at Crowley. There was so much fear in his eyes. He hated it.  He hated anyone who would make him look like that.

But as much as he hated Agares and wanted her to die just like Satan, the best chance of everyone getting out alive was to resolve this without a fight.  He couldn’t let Crowley’s fears come to pass, he _wouldn’t_ , as long as it was within his power to do so.  Maybe there was still a chance.

“Well,” said the voice from Agares’s maw.

There was absolute quiet, silence stretched to the breaking point with tension.

“Am I seeing this correctly?” boomed the archdemon’s enormous voice, tail flicking.  “I am to face a mixed company of demons _and_ angels?  I admit I have never seen this before.  I’m surprised you didn’t destroy yourselves with infighting before I got here.”

Aziraphale did not want to admit he was also surprised by that.

“But I suppose common enemies can bring together even a group like this,” she continued, crawling forwards, the scales of her armored belly scraping the cement. “Although I did not expect quite so many demons to have actually taken this angel’s side.  First, I would like to extend an offer of amnesty to anyone who would like to change sides.  Come forward now.”

A clanking sounded as a demon pushed their way to the front of Aziraphale’s side.

“Please no,” said Crowley.

It was Abraxas, and she planted herself on the lip of the roof and pointed her sword at Agares. “Agares, my old lord.  Go away.”

Agares’s eyes slid closed and her body vibrated with laughter.  “Abraxas, I _had_ wondered where you had gone.  You think you can threaten me?  That’s adorable.”

“Noah has made a decision on where he wants to be, and that is _not_ with you.  You can’t have him.”

“Know your place,” Agares snarled.  “You’re nothing more than an imp.  The audacity that you would address me like _this._ ”

“Welcome to Earth!” Abraxas shouted.  “Now, get out!”

She flicked her sword at her.  The demons on either side of Agares snickered.

“Abraxas,” Agares said. “You’re the one who liked those small, fluffy animals, weren’t you?  The last one was quite delicious.  Have you found a new one yet?  Why don’t you bring it up here for me?”

The snickering became laughter.

“I have Noah’s caretaker here with me.  He would do better if returned to her, and we can continue on with the war as planned. Now, do step aside, Abraxas. Maybe I’ll have time to discipline you properly after this.”

Abraxas was shaking with anger.  She slammed her sword back into its sheath, whirled around, and stomped through the crowd of demons, past Aziraphale and Crowley, down to the fire escape to the shop.

“Abraxassss, where the _hell_ are you going?” Crowley hissed.

“This _bitch,_ ” Abraxas muttered as her head disappeared out of sight.

It hardly seemed likely that she was deserting with that tone and that gait, but Aziraphale could not imagine where she was going.

“Now, I will ask again,” said Agares.  “The reason why I have garnered so much support in my bid for the throne is because I am the only one with a real way to win the war.  I have discovered a way for demons to get into Heaven unharmed. Once the battle on Earth is over, we can storm Heaven directly.  Not even Satan could say he had a plan for doing that.”

Heavy, disbelieving silence fell.

“What?” said Crowley from beside him.  “No way. She’s lying.”

“You’re lying,” Michael shouted across the distance.  “The time for talk has passed.”

 _Please don’t attack yet,_ Aziraphale thought desperately at Michael, who looked ready to kill everything in a hundred-meter radius.

“I’m not lying,” Agares purred.  “If you join me now, you will have more of a chance than ever to take back Heaven once and for all.”

No one came forwards. Agares gave a hiss, expression changing from smug to frustrated.  “Very well, then, you’ll die where you stand.  Where is the principality Aziraphale?” 

“I am he,” said Aziraphale, not moving, sword raised.

A wave of laughter erupted through the lesser demons.  Agares turned her head to look at him better.  “You are barely a morsel for me.  This is the one who bested Satan in combat?”

 _That was an accident,_ Aziraphale almost said, but said instead, “Yes, that was me.”

“You try to claim Satan’s throne for yourself?”

He didn’t, but he wasn’t sure if answering in the negative or lying would be better.  He had never faced down anyone like this.  He had no idea what he was doing.

Michael’s wingbeats were increasing in speed, raring to dash across the street and begin, but no one made a move to attack.  Aziraphale silently begged him to hold off until it was unmistakable the battle was unavoidable.

When it became obvious that Aziraphale was not going to answer, Agares continued, “I have everything I need to take Satan’s place.  All I need is the antichrist to start Armageddon, and the rest of Hell will rally to my side to destroy Heaven.  Give him to me, and perhaps I shall let you live.”

“Just turn around and leave, Agares,” said Maltha.  “No one has to die here.”

Agares’s head swung towards Maltha.  “Is that the archdemon of healing I heard?  My, my, I guess what I had heard about you going missing is true.  But I had not expected you to turn up _here_ , among such strange company.  Is this your way of trying to claim the throne?”

“I’m on the defensive, Agares.  That’s why I’m giving you the chance to turn away unharmed.  Leave now.”

Agares’s throat vibrated with a chuckle.  “My force is much larger than yours.”

“Your force does not include me.”

The opposing demons murmured uncomfortably.  Agares shot a glare full of daggers at them, and they fell silent.

Her head snaked back around to Maltha.  Even she could not suppress the twinge of fear that overcame her face, but she quickly replaced it with irritation.  “Even in Heaven, you were always among the most arrogant of the archangels, Maltha. But I’m sure not even you could overtake this many enemies.  I had not expected that we would have to fight both you and an archangel, but it appears as though you two are the only ones who pose a serious threat to me. You would do wise to simply give me the antichrist.”

“You bloody moron!” shouted Crowley.  “You really want to go against the Sword of Heaven?  Are you out of your mind?”

Agares’s eyes widened. “And I can hear Hell’s biggest _traitor_ is here as well.  I haven’t forgotten about you, serpent.  There are many who are eager to see you dead, but I have something _special_ planned for you that I think they’ll like even more.”

Agares’s demons tittered with laughter yet again.  Crowley had gone pale, clearly regretting drawing attention to himself.

“Now, I will ask one more time,” said Agares.  “Give me the antichrist.”

“No, I’m afraid we can’t do that,” said Aziraphale.  “And if that’s what you came here for, I’d think it best if you left now.”

Someone’s feet could be heard tapping rapidly up the fire escape.

Agares’s jaw widened in a facsimile of a grin.  “So _polite,_ principality.”

“Move,” Abraxas’s voice called through the crowd, and Aziraphale’s demons parted like a tidal wave with fresh murmurs of alarm.  “ _Move._ ”

“Let’s see if you’re still that polite when you’re writhing in agony in Hell,” hissed Agares.

“ _Mrrrrrow!_ ” said a very loud cat noise.

What happened next only worked for two reasons:

One, because Abraxas resisted the urge to shout “For Aziraphale!” and, as a result, Agares did not notice her and realize what was happening until it was far too late to take evasive action and move her enormous body out of the way.

And two, because it was so ludicrous that nobody on either side of the assembly would have thought it would happen in a million years.

Abraxas appeared on the lip of the roof, planting herself at the very front of Aziraphale’s side, in front of the archers where no sane being would want to be during a battle.  She was clad in a pair of yellow rubber gloves and the frilly apron Oryss had been using in the kitchen, and she had a water balloon in her right hand.

“Is that—?” Aziraphale gasped.

“Where did she get that?” Crowley said.

And with one swift motion, Abraxas lobbed the balloon like a baseball pitcher.  It soared across the street, arcing straight for Agares.

Everyone watched it go, all six of Agares’s fearsome eyes tracing it without comprehension a split second before it reached her.

It burst against the archdemon’s chest, soaking her, and her eyes went wide as her reptilian skin sizzled. A terrible scream of pain erupted from her mouth, wings flailing and claws gouging the cement.  The demons near her darted to get out of the way of her death throes and the droplets of holy water flinging off of her.  Her bellowing was so loud it shook the windows, and her enormous tail slammed into the building below her and decimated the façade as she writhed.

She collapsed down onto the roof, rolling, wings flailing.  Her screaming began to diminish in volume, limbs curling.  By the time she fell still her body was scarcely more than a gooey puddle on the ground.

Abraxas lifted two yellow-gloved hands, each one making a rude gesture.  “How’d you like that?”

“You killed the archdemon!” shouted the demon closest to Agares’s remains.

Abraxas adjusted her gestures so that they were aimed at the demon who had spoken, and then shouted at the very top of her lungs, “You don’t touch the antichrist, you don’t touch my master or his right-hand demon, and you don’t touch my cat, you got it?”

“Who do you think you are?” shouted a duke.  “Know your place, you ruddy imp!  You’ll be lucky to be alive after—”

Michael suddenly broke free from the group, closing the distance between him and Agares’s demons in milliseconds, his sword poised to strike.

Demons all have several things in common, one of which is a very well-developed instinct for self-preservation.  And at that moment, it kicked in for each of the hundreds of demons there, who were now faced with the possibility of being pitted against the archangel Michael without the buffer of an archdemon to occupy his attention.

The opposing battalion dissolved into chaos, with everyone scrambling to get out of the way as fast as they could.  Wings unfurled, demons scattering into the air or bounding away across the rooftops like a herd of startled deer. By the time Michael’s sword sunk through the head of the first demon he could get his hands on, the entire group had streamed away in every direction, not stopping until they all disappeared into the distance.

“Yeah, that’s right, run away!” said Abraxas, stripping off her gloves, and who _surely_ must have realized it was not her they were afraid of.

Whatever she was about to say next was drowned out by the massive cheer that erupted from behind her, and Aziraphale’s demons surged forwards around her, clapping and babbling excitedly.  She looked at them all, bewildered, apparently still in combat mode.

Crowley leapt into Aziraphale’s arms, kissing him.  Aziraphale twirled him around, their weapons clattering to the ground, both of them amazed to be together and in one piece.  They had to stop kissing when neither of them could stop smiling and laughing.  They both felt themselves hauled bodily off the ground as Maltha appeared behind them and squeezed them in her enormous arms.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and pulled him forward, pushing through the crowd of demons around Abraxas.  They fell silent and let him through.  


“Where on Earth did you get that holy water?” said Aziraphale.

“Well, when there are demons who want you dead, i-it pays to have some around,” said Abraxas. “I-i…”  She knelt and bowed her head.  “I disobeyed you again, master, please forgive me.  I’ll take whatever punishment you want to give me.”

Aziraphale pulled her up by the arm and crushed her in a hug, feeling his eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you,” he said.  “ _Thank you_.  You did just fine.   _God_ , did you do just fine.” 

Mittens gave a trill and rubbed against Aziraphale’s leg, apparently feeling left out.  Aziraphale did not even yell at her when she clawed at his leg.

“Come back here, you cowards!”

Crowley looked up just in time to see Angelo approaching Michael, who was still flapping his wings at an agitated pace.  Angelo said something too quietly to hear.

“I’ll not put it away!” said Michael, trying to gesture with his sword, but it slipped out of his grasp and slung towards the rooftop beneath him, where it stuck fast.

“Goodness, is he all right?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley felt lingering anxiety returning to his stomach.  Michael refused to be calmed and looked half-tempted to turn and start mowing down his own warriors in place of the demons who had just escaped him.

* * *

Miraculously, none of the humans around seemed to notice what had happened.  It was, they discovered, literally miraculous, because one of the demons had taken it upon themselves to make sure passersby conveniently forgot the amazing sight they had seen on their way.

Well, almost no one noticed. A police officer came by an hour later, feeling like vaguely there was something here he should check out, but not being sure what.  They had to let him walk through the shop, hastily hiding the presence of the horde of demonic forces there.

Still, that did not solve the problem of there now being damage to the building across the street. Aziraphale took a group of demons to go fix it properly before the miracle wore off and anybody got upset by it. He was pleased to see a few angels join that mission as well, including Rosia, although he suspected that was because Rava was also there.*

*his suspicions were confirmed when Rosia and Rava snuck off together

As they worked to clean up the mess, they saw Michael circling restlessly in the sky, searching for any sign of the demons that had run off.  But they didn’t reappear.  Privately, Aziraphale didn’t think they ever would, but Michael seemed to hope so.

Aziraphale and Crowley approached Abraxas as she was helping clear the rubble off the street.

“Abraxas, may we talk to you for a moment?” Aziraphale said.

Abraxas leaned her shoved against the wall and stood at attention.  “Of course, master.”

“You used to work for Agares, so I thought you might know.  She claimed that she knew a way for demons to get into Heaven.  Crowley’s been gravely injured when he’s been to Heaven, and I never would have thought it was possible for a demon to go past the gates.  Please tell me, was Agares lying to try and intimidate us?”

Abraxas hesitated, fingering the hem of her shirt.

“You can tell me the truth. I won’t get angry at you.”

“No, it wasn’t a lie,” she said.  “It’s real. She knows how to get into Heaven.”

“By somebody,” breathed Crowley.

“She knew having a _real_ plan for actually destroying Heaven could win her the throne, so she had all her subordinates look for a way to storm Heaven directly.  Somebody found one in an very old grimoire.”

“Angel,” said Crowley.  “I never thought Hell might actually _win_.”

“It seems an alarmingly real possibility,” said Aziraphale.

“Do you know what it is?” said Crowley.  “The way into Heaven?”

She nodded.

“What!” said Crowley. “Have you been there?”

“Of course not!”

“This is very dangerous knowledge,” said Aziraphale. 

“…potentially useful, too,” said Crowley.

They locked eyes.

“We can’t,” said Aziraphale. “Not as long as the war might happen. With Agares dead, any plans to use it will probably have dissolved.  We need to let the knowledge die with her.”  He put a hand on her shoulder.  “Abraxas, I want you to do me one more favor.  Keep this to yourself, unless it needs to be used under very dire circumstances, all right?”

“Yes, lord.  I will.  I won’t tell another soul.”

Aziraphale did not want to imagine circumstances more dire than the current situation.  Hopefully that time would never come, and they could settle back into relative peace.


	10. Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is by petimetrek http://petimetrek.tumblr.com/ (here is a link to the art https://68.media.tumblr.com/2b3147e32f71dc46111cec31a3afb461/tumblr_omvdp54L0o1rk3gneo8_r1_1280.jpg )
> 
>  
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/159209466070/aziraphales-legion-part-10-feast

Art by [@petimetrek](https://tmblr.co/moY2zLgzX0BHBJ-_cHyY3Hg) ([link for ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/2b3147e32f71dc46111cec31a3afb461/tumblr_omvdp54L0o1rk3gneo8_r1_1280.jpg)image in case AO3 bungles it somehow)

Crowley excused himself from the clean-up job halfway through and did not return.  Aziraphale thought he had probably found some excuse to get distracted and stay inside the shop, since he had been complaining that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him use miracles to get most of it done.

When the job was finally finished, everyone joined him to go back inside, dirty and sweaty.  As soon as he opened the door, a delicious scent wafting through the air hit his nose.

Aziraphale went upstairs and popped his head into the kitchen in the adjacent flat to see Oryss at the hob stirring an enormous pot.  Crowley was there too, tossing a salad, as well as an angel who was balancing two trays of dinner rolls on his arms and seemed to be listening to some directions Oryss was giving him.

“What’s this?” said Aziraphale.

“Angel!” said Crowley. “Oryss wanted to cook dinner for everyone tonight.  Thought it would be nice to celebrate and all that.  Wouldn’t do to leave her in the kitchen all by herself with all these mouths to feed.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “That’s wonderful.”

“My lord,” said Oryss shyly, and with her gesture Aziraphale realized he was in the way.  He stepped to the side, and Adramelech came into the kitchen past him carrying an enormous bag of potatoes, which he set about washing off.

“Ah, anything I can do to help, then?” he said.

“You could take a bath,” said Crowley, gesturing with the salad fork.  “You’re filthier than those potatoes.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, drawing a nice hot bath and finding it so relaxing that he accidentally fell asleep in the tub.  He was only woken by Botis’s concerned queries as to his wellbeing.

It was starting to get late by the time he came out, and they were still working in the kitchen. There was only one oven, and he suspected they must be cheating judging by the amount of food coming out.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked Crowley, who was rolling croissants on a tray.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low hiss.  “You shouldn’t help cook.  You’re the lord; it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh,” said a disappointed Aziraphale, who had been picturing a small accident in which Crowley smudged something sweet on his face and Aziraphale was responsible for cleaning it off, perhaps with his tongue.

He shuffled out of the kitchen, not feeling much like a lord of anything.  He eventually lost himself in a book in his study, although he found it especially difficult to concentrate when they started dragging furniture around.

When it began to grow dark, Botis appeared in the doorway, still fully dressed in his armor.  He saluted.  “Lord, I was sent to inform you dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, sliding his chair back, quite hungry by now.

He followed Botis into the flat next door.  The dining room had  _not_  been big enough to hold such an enormous banquet table or this many people, he was sure.  Angels and demons lined the table and the walls. The demons all cheered when he came in.

“Goodness,” he said to Botis quietly.  “What are they cheering me for?”

“Our lord has kept us alive and safely seen us through a battle with an archdemon,” Botis answered him.

“I didn’t really do anything, though.”

“Lord,” said Botis, directly into his ear, pushing him towards the head of the table, “it is a rule of thumb that one never gets anywhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth without taking credit for things they are not responsible for.  Let them celebrate.”

He noticed with astonishment that  _everyone_  was here.  The entire garrison of angels had gathered alongside his demons, and they were  _mingling._   Rosia and Rava were feeding each other pieces of fruit, and the angel and demon Aziraphale had caught in the closet before were getting just a  _bit_  too handsy for public view.  Adramelech was trying to explain something about the food to the angel next to him, who listened with the bare minimum of polite interest, more focused on the turkey leg that was just barely out of reach now that someone had moved the tray.  Even Victoria, who had been in the habit of staying relatively aloof, was there in the kitchen doorway helping Oryss bring in the remainder of the food.  Maltha and Beth were squished together in one chair, their words lost in the general buzz of conversation, but looking very content with each other.  Noah was sitting on Adam’s lap, drinking what Aziraphale sincerely hoped was apple juice out of a wine glass.  And Michael was in the corner, holding Angelo’s hand, and for once nobody looked nervous around him.

And there was Crowley, his beloved demon, smiling at him with those glittering yellow eyes, in the seat next to the head of the table. He felt his heart swelling.

He took his seat and watched as the last few trays of food came out. The table was, if anything, too small. It reminded Aziraphale of a feast he had been to in ancient Greece.  It was the only thing he had been to that rivaled this atmosphere.  

A few years ago—even a few  _weeks_  ago—he would never have believed this were possible.  And here they were.

“That’s everything,” Oryss said, nudging a wine bottle aside to make room for a bowl of rolls.

“Let’s give our compliments to the chef, everyone,” said Aziraphale, and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Oryss gave a slightly embarrassed bow.

As everyone scooched their chairs in and piled food onto their plates or poured drinks, Aziraphale felt like it would be proper for him to say something.  He tapped a fork on his wine glass until everyone settled down, looking at him expectantly.

It was only then that he realized he did not know what to say.   “Ahm…  A toast!”

He lifted his glass, and all the angels and demons followed suit.  “A toast to…” he continued.  “To, ahm…”

He looked over at Crowley, who had amusement dancing in his yellow eyes.  Aziraphale knew then what he wanted to toast.

“To love,” he said.

Everyone murmured low approvals, tapping their glasses against each other, and drinking.

Aziraphale regained his seat, preparing to tuck in.

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Aren’t we going to say grace?”

The room fell coldly silent. Aziraphale had no idea what in Michael’s fever-brained mind would have made him think that was an appropriate suggestion.  Even Victoria was cringing, waiting for the reactions of the demons in the room.

“Actually…” said Oryss. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Murmurs and whispers peppered the room.

“If the angels are used to saying grace before they take their meals,” said Adramelech, “then we can suffer through it for their sake.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale.

“Why not?” said Abraxas. “It’s merely a formality.  It’s not like He actually pays attention to it.”

Nobody made any objections.

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale cautiously.  “Let’s join hands.”

Hands reached out and found each other, from beside one another, across the table, across the aisle, occult and ethereal beings partaking of a gesture that had probably never occurred before in history.  Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in one and a second angel’s in the other.

Aziraphale bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale lifted his head to look at the room

Everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Except Maltha.  She was holding Beth’s hand, but she had flatly refused to take the hand of the angel next to her, and she was staring straight into Aziraphale challengingly.

Aziraphale gave her a pleading look.

He felt a tentacle in his brain as Maltha inserted her thought directly into his ears without speaking. _I’m the only one here who looked God Himself in the eye as I fell, and I will die before I bow to Him even one more time.  You’ll be waiting a very long time indeed unless you proceed without me._

Aziraphale looked at the faces of the lesser demons around him, heads bowed in respect for someone who had rejected them, and he could sense that perhaps they had wanted to do this all along, but like Oryss approaching Michael, they had been too scared and needed his help.

But Maltha.  She was too proud.  That was just who she was.

Aziraphale nodded at her.  _That’s fair._

He bowed his head once more and began.  “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”

The generic grace prayer seemed ill-fitting for this group. But what he really wanted to say, he could never say aloud in this company.  So he started a separate prayer in his head, sincerely, that maybe God would listen to.

_Lord God, I know I cannot question your ineffable judgement._

“…which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Be present at our table, Lord.”

_But I care very much for those around the table with me here now.  They are kind and merciful and so good.  I do not know why you would cast them out…_

“Be here and everywhere adored.  These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee.”

 _...But perhaps you could find it somewhere, in your infinite mercy and grace, to forgive them—forgive us_ all _—and to bless this strange gathering._

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.  In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful.  Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Angels rarely pray directly to God, because they simply get their directions from their supervisors and few of them have anything important enough that they would dare speak to God about. And God does not really  _speak_  to one, per se.  When He wants to communicate with someone, He puts His words directly into the recipient’s brain, similar to what Maltha had just done, except He does not put  _words_  in, because that would not be ineffable enough.  When one hears from God, they more are left with a sort of impression that they just suddenly remember hearing Him speak a few seconds ago, and are now left with whatever thoughts and feelings they would spawn from hearing that, since He presses it directly onto their brain in a way that’s hard to describe.

And the feelings Aziraphale had as soon as he finished his  _Amen_ were associated with the following message God sent to answer his prayer:

_Fuck off, you disgusting little creature._

Aziraphale’s hand clamped on Crowley’s, so hard Crowley flinched.  Whatever opportunity there might have been to say something to the group as a whole after the prayer was lost as the meal finally began amid the clinking of silverware and the buzz of conversation.

“Angel, are you all right?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes roved the dining hall, then finally came to rest on Crowley, bewildered. Crowley’s serpentine eyes grew serious with concern.  “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…”

“Did…”  Crowley returned his grip just as fiercely.  “Did He answer you?”

It was a mistake. Just a mistake.  He had gotten a message intended for somebody else.  Haha.  Of course God wouldn’t have said something like that to Aziraphale.  Not to  _him._  He was an angel. That kind of talk was only reserved for demons.

Right?

“Angel?  Talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed.  A demon nearby put down their silverware and looked at him with concern.

“He said something I rather did not expect,” said Aziraphale quietly.  “But I would prefer not to share it.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again.  “Okay.”

“Now why don’t we enjoy this delicious meal our friends have prepared for us?” said Aziraphale.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang.

Aziraphale’s phone never rang.  His number was not really a secret, but there were not many people who wanted to get ahold of him.  He had thought all of them were here with him.

He still had on the generic ringtone, and its beeping was barely audible in the loud room, but it was insistent.  He felt his stomach sinking deeper with each ring, as though the call would be from God himself.

“Angel, you’re phone’s ringing,” said Crowley.

“I-I’d better take this.  Please continue on without me,” said Aziraphale. He stood and wobbled out of the room unsurely, holding the vibrating device in his hand.

Crowley watched him go, concern growing in the pit of his stomach.  In his absence, Crowley made do with sucking down the hors-d’oeuvres.

 _Relax_ , he told himself.   _Just relax._

Crowley had no idea what response to his prayer Aziraphale could have gotten to unsettle him, but surely it couldn’t have been that bad, right?  Otherwise God would have smitten them all by now.  Surely it was just something that startled him.  And that phone call could be from anyone.  A human customer, even.  There was nothing to worry about.

He should just enjoy the meal.  Everyone seemed to be having a good time already.  He took a breath and steadied his nerves, determined not to be shaken so easily.  He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass, and began to drink it, resolved to enjoy the evening if it killed him.

Botis appeared in Aziraphale’s seat.

“Botis,” said Crowley, eyeing him strangely.  “You can take your armor off, you know.”

“I’d rather keep it on, sir,” said Botis.  “I’m going to keep watch after I’ve eaten.”

“….all right,” said Crowley, thinking it was rather unnecessary, but knowing personal defense of his lord seemed to be Botis’s hobby.  And with that phone call, who knows, it might be a good idea…

“Sir,” said Botis, colouring.  “I…um, I didn’t recognize you until I saw you in your armor.  With your staff.”

“Recognize me?”

“The healer.  The only healer besides Maltha who fell.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to flush red.  He had never been treated very well once other demons found out he was a healer. “What’s your point?”

Botis ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword.  “I…I was among the group of angels who pressured you to join the rebellion in Heaven.”

A shockwave of recognition flashed through Crowley.  Take away the horns…Yes, he had known him as an angel.

“You must hate me,” said Botis.  “I’m so, so sorry.  If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have done it.  We were all young and stupid.”

Botis had a look of genuine sorrow and distress on his face.  Crowley could tell it had been eating at him.

He put a hand on his shoulder.  “Botis, that is quite literally ancient history.  I think you’ve redeemed yourself by now.  The way you threw yourself in front of me and Aziraphale when you thought we would have to fight Agares is plenty.”

Botis’s face dissolved into relief and happiness, but he suppressed it with a serious expression soon enough.  “Thank you, sir.  I’m just doing my duty.”

“Of course you are.  Now, why don’t you get smashed while you have the opportunity?”

Botis saluted and marched off.

Aziraphale did not come back for a worrying long time.  Crowley sipped his wine slowly, tension building in his stomach.  Victoria caught his eye, staring at him from down the long table.

Crowley broke eye contact and went back to his wine, but Victoria got up and navigated the crowded space to him anyway.

“Is everything all right, Crowley?” she said, slipping into Aziraphale’s empty seat.  “You look nervous.”

“Aziraphale got a phone call,” he said.

“Oh,” said Victoria, “is that all? For a minute I thought you were concerned Michael was going to start a fight.”

Crowley looked over at Michael. He could not help but notice the archangel was not eating anything and was starting to look like he was enjoying the meal progressively less and less. Crowley hadn’t been concerned about that before Victoria mentioned it, but he was  _now_.

“I wanted to reassure you I’m committed to making sure everything stays peaceful,” said Victoria.

Crowley nodded. “Thanks.”

Victoria’s fingers idly reached out for a handful of grapes on the table.  “So why is it so concerning that Aziraphale got a phone call? Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know.  Not many people have his number.  I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

“Intuition?”

He shook his head, then occupied himself with emptying his wine glass to avoid meeting the power’s eye. She had taken another handful of grapes by the time he set it back down.  “Hey, Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“What for?”

“For saving my life when Kabata attacked us. When we showed up in Heaven and you took me back down and got Raphael to treat me.”

“Oh, that?  It already feels so long ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

Crowley peered into his empty wine glass, swirling the remnants on the bottom.  “To be honest, Victoria, when I opened the portal to get into Heaven, I didn’t expect anyone to save me.  I figured the odds of anyone in Heaven being both willing and able to treat a demon’s injuries  _and_  being available right then and there were low enough.  And that was assuming the person at the gate cared enough about me to try and keep me alive, if they didn’t actively kill me first.  When I saw you come out, I half expected you to take Aziraphale off me and then leave me there to die on Heaven’s doorstep.”

Victoria flushed with embarrassment.  “Crowley, you really think I’d do that to you?”

He did not dare look up to see her expression.  “It wouldn’t be the first time Heaven’s gates closed on me when I needed help.”

“You thought Heaven would let you die, but you still went there?”

Crowley looked away, pretending like he was trying to find a refill for his wine glass.  “I knew you’d save Aziraphale.  He may not be very popular, but he’s still an angel.  I figured at least one of us could survive the attack.”

Crowley took the ensuing silence as a cue that he should finally look up at her.  He was shocked to find that her eyes were watering.

“Crowley, I had no idea demons were capable of such selflessness.”

He could have been insulted by it, but he knew she had meant it as a great compliment.  He did not know how to respond.  So he lifted his wine glass and tipped it to get at the leftovers on the bottom.

“Crowley, you are a creature of great honour and nobleness,” said Victoria, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad that I could get to know you.  I’d save your life again in a heartbeat.”

Crowley looked down at her hand; it took a moment to realize she wanted him to shake it.  He took it, slightly embarrassed, not feeling very noble at all.  “Erm, thanks.”

After the handshake was over, they both just sat there, slightly awkward.  Victoria sniffled and pushed her chair back.  “Well, I’d better—I’d—Look, your friend wants to talk to you.”

He saw that Maltha was motioning to him to come over.  

“I’d better go see what she wants.  Thanks, Victoria.”

“Hey, um, Crowley?”

He turned back towards the angel.

Victoria refused to meet his eyes.  “Your friend. Beth.”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell her it’s orange?”

“What is?”

“My favourite colour.”

He smiled.  “All right, Victoria.”

Crowley navigated his way through the packed room until he could wheedle his way into the space in front of the archdemon.  “What is it?”

“I was just talking to Beth,” said Maltha.

“Maltha told me that all demons have an animal form,” said Beth.

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. “Nobody’s really sure why, it just kind of works out that way.”

Maltha downed an entire glass of wine in one go and then continued, “Yes, and I told her—”

“I asked her what your form was—” Beth slurred.

“But I didn’t tell her—”

“She made me guess—”

“She thought—”

“Shh, babe, I want to tell him!” said Beth, slapping Maltha’s arm.

It was at this point that Crowley noticed the gaggle of empty wine glasses surrounding the pair and their flushed faces.  “Are you two drunk already?”

“Yes,” said Maltha, while Beth simultaneously answered, “No.”

“How are you finding the wine?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Crowley,” said Maltha as more wine appeared in her glass.  “Of all the things I put effort into learning about in my time on this plant.  Planet.  Alcohol was not one of them despite my fondness for it. Once I tried to get drunk off of sparkling grape juice.  Beth had to explain to me why it wouldn’t work.  That’s why I keep her around.”

“Awww, babe,” said Beth as Maltha shook her with drunken revelry.

“My point is I don’t know good wine from grape juice,” said Maltha.  “Anyway, that’s not important.  I made her guess what your animal was—”

“I thought you were a cat,” said Beth between bouts of laughter.

“A cat?” Crowley exclaimed. “No, no, no.  If anyone were a cat, it would have to be Abraxas, wouldn’t it?”

Maltha sloshed wine out of the glass in her hand as she leaned in closer to Crowley.  “Abraxas thinks I don’t know what her animal form is, but I do.”

“Erm…” said Crowley. The two of them apparently found it totally hysterical, because they were having trouble breathing between fits of giggling. Abraxas was across the room letting Mittens eat turkey off her plate, too far away to hear them.

“Tell him,” said Beth.

“A mouse,” said Maltha in a strangulated voice.  “She’s a mouse.”

“What?  No!” said Crowley.

Maltha nodded and waved her wine glass.  Beth had been trying to give her a refill and missed.

“No wonder her cats like her so much,” wheezed Maltha.  “They’re probably waiting for her to turn her back so they can eat her.”

“And I wanted to ask you,” said Beth.  “Crowley, since you’re a snake—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“Have you ever eaten a mouse?”

“Well of course!” said Crowley, a tad irritated.  “I had to eat while I was in a snake’s body, didn’t I?  Couldn’t exactly prepare a sandwich with no hands, could I?”

“No, no, I meant while you were in a human body.  You suppress those reptilian instincts all the way?”

Crowley grabbed the wine bottle out of Beth’s hand as she spoke and took a swig from it.  “I’m not answering that.”

“You  _did_ , didn’t you!” said Beth, unimaginably delighted.  

“I’m  _not_  answering that.”

“Hey, Crowley, are you all right?” said Maltha.

“Your girlfriend is harassing me.”

“No, seriously, though. You look a little…”  One of Maltha’s red pupils drifted off to the side drunkenly while the other remained fixed on Crowley.  “On edge?”

Crowley set the wine bottle down.  “Maltha, you’re the only one in this room who can protect us, but you’ve gotten too drunk to walk straight.  I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Maltha put a hand on his arm.  “Crowley, I can sober up at the drop of a hat.”

Crowley flushed with embarrassment; he had nearly forgotten about that.

“Nobody can get in at us.  And I’m sure by now word of Agares’s death will have spread, and that will make everyone think twice about coming after us.  I wouldn’t be surprised if even more came over to our side because of it.  Nobody is going to attack us so quickly after that. We’re as safe as we can be right now. Relax.  Enjoy yourself.  You’re always so tense.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that Aziraphale got a phone call.”

“Why is that a problem? Expecting trouble?”

“Only because it always seems to chase me.”

Maltha agreed that was fair enough and left him in his tension.  Beth also remarked about Michael’s apparent decline with concern, which did not help his nerves at all.

As time passed and the food disappeared, the wine bottles emptied and refilled multiple times, and the drunken merriment climbed higher and higher.  At one point, when there was enough space on the table, some board games came out of the closet and appeared amidst the food, and those nearest entered an intense competition.  Maltha and Beth decided to play as a team, but they wanted to use the dog token, which one of Michael’s angels had.  The angel said he would only give up the dog in exchange for the hat token, but Adramelech had the hat piece and wasn’t willing to part with it no matter what. Maltha ordered him to give it to her on her authority as an archdemon, but Adramelech said the sacred ritual of dibs was of utmost important on Earth and superseded even Hell’s authority. Maltha looked taken aback and believed him, and Beth couldn’t explain anything to her because she was laughing too hard.  The Monopoly game started considerably later than the game of Sorry! across the table, which was already in full swing with several murderous eliminations in the bag by the time someone had purchased their first property.

Crowley found himself unable to take Maltha’s advice and let himself relax.  Michael got up halfway through the festivities and exited briskly, Angelo chasing after him a minute later.  And Crowley kept his eye on the door, hoping Aziraphale would come back soon and tell him the call had just been a wrong number or something.

* * *

Aziraphale moved to the bedroom to answer the call, but it was too late and it went to voicemail.  The caller did not leave a message, but his phone vibrated in his hand with a call from the same number a few seconds later. He had to steady himself for a few deep breaths before flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice.  He knew that voice.  He had taken orders from it.

“Camael.”

There was an animalistic hissing on the other end of the line.  “Do not call me that.”

“Kabata, then.”

There was silence, as though he hadn’t expected getting Aziraphale to use his preferred name would be so easy.  Aziraphale felt like he wanted to catch up.   _Haven’t spoken in a while.  How’s it been?  How’s life as a demon?_   But he thought that it would be inappropriate.

“I know you have the antichrist,” said Kabata.

“I’m not denying that I do.”

Another pause. Perhaps Kabata was struggling because he was still new at being evil.

“Give him to me.”

Aziraphale actually had to stifle a laugh.  “No, I’m afraid you won’t get him that easily.”

“What happened the last time we met wasn’t personal, Aziraphale.”

“‘What happened’?  You mean when you tried to murder me and Crowley?”

Another hesitation. “Yes.  But I don’t have any interest in getting revenge on you, Aziraphale. I want the throne.  Now that Agares and her crew aren’t lurking about, you and I can talk about it.”

Aziraphale choked back laughter again.  “Kabata, you  _just fell_.  Doesn’t that seem a bit…ambitious?  You’re competing with archdemons who have served under Satan for millennia.”

“I’m aware,” snarled Kabata. “Which is why I need the antichrist. If I can ignite the apocalypse with his son, Satan’s forces will have no choice but to recognize me.”

“You’re seriously trying to convince me to just give him to you?  Surely you must know that won’t work.”

“Well, I’m not just  _asking_  for him,” said Kabata.  “I’m offering you a deal.”

“…a deal?”

“You can be my second in command in Hell.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll let you keep all your demons.  Unharmed. Just as they are now.  I’ll personally guarantee Crowley’s safety against any of those still thirsty for his blood after what he did.  I’ll even let you keep any of those angels who strike your fancy.”

Aziraphale considered it. Just for a moment.  He wasn’t proud of that.

“Ahh…” said Kabata. “I see I’ve struck a chord.  I know what it is you want.”

“ _No,_  Kabata,” he said.  

“I’m not going to hurt Noah. I’m going to give him power. Aziraphale, there’s so much we could gain from this.”

“I will not  _ever_  participate in  _any_ plan that involves the destruction of Creation, do you understand?” Aziraphale shouted.  “That’s always been the  _point_.”

“Please reconsider.”

“Kabata,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am currently sitting in a building laced with occult sigils that bar your entry, surrounded by a legion of Heaven’s finest warriors, including the archangel Michael—who I might add has been raring to kill an archdemon for weeks now—as well as a horde of demons that would die fulfilling my commands if I needed them to,  _and_ the archdemon who almost bested Satan for his throne while he was still alive. And you are alone, newly fallen, and have made enemies of everyone powerful in Hell already since you’re competing for the throne.  I very much doubt you have any ace up your sleeve.  If you want the new antichrist so badly,  _you are free to come and try to take him._ ”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath after this outburst.  Kabata was silent.

“Even when I had authority over you, you never did as you were told, Aziraphale,” said Kabata’s voice, which seemed to ooze out of the telephone and prick his neck with a slimy tendril.  “And when you’re at your lowest moment, when you’re asking yourself why things turned out this way for you, I want you to remember it’s because  _you do not do as you are told._ ”

The line went dead. Aziraphale kept the phone at his ear for a few extra moments, his mind racing.

He snapped it shut, wishing he had not gotten quite so mouthy.  Kabata had deserved it, but still.  He lay back on the bed and sat there for a while, his head in his hands, feeling positively overwhelmed, not sure what to do.  

He lost track of time as he lay there.  He heard heavy footsteps thump in the hallway, and he levered himself upright just in time to see Angelo scurrying past the room looking concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale called.

Angelo stopped.  “Oh. Um.  Yeah, everything’s fine.  Michael’s just not feeling so well.  All the noise was getting to him. We’re going to keep watch on the roof.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking that might be a good idea.  “All right.  Thank you. Let me know if you see anything.”

Angelo disappeared. Aziraphale flopped back onto the bed, then suddenly realized the time.  He’d better go tell everyone about the call so that they could be on alert.

When he walked back into the dining room, he saw that the food was mostly gone, and that several board games had appeared.  The group closest to him was boisterously fighting over candy-coloured money and small plastic houses and metal tokens in the shape of shoes and cars.  

They were all drunk and happy.  He could not bring himself to interrupt them.  He turned back around, going down the stairs quietly, the loud noises and warm smells fading with the distance.

He found Botis in the main shop standing facing the door, silhouetted against the night through the glass shopfront, weakly illuminated by moonlight.

“Evening, lord,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, obviously also a bit drunk.

“What are you doing down here?”

“He’s keeping watch,” said Crowley’s voice behind him, appearing on the staircase.  He padded down the stairs and across the shop, coming up beside them.  “I told him to relax for once, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I just want to be sure my lord is safe,” said Botis.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.  “Thank you. Botis, Crowley.  Will you help me strengthen the anti-demon sigils on the shop?”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve gotten a call from an old friend.  Nothing to be alarmed about.  But I’d rather make sure he can’t get in.”

Crowley seemed to immediately understand who he meant and did not ask questions.  Botis did not see any point in asking too many questions of his lord, so he also did not ask questions.

They tightened the glyphs so that no demon was able to enter, full stop.  He was sure that Kabata wouldn’t have somehow grown to love the Earth so quickly, not someone like him, but he wanted to take no chances that he would be able to exploit any loopholes the exception might allow.  Aziraphale was sure that everyone was already inside the perimeter, and Botis assured him he would make certain nobody left that evening.

He could have a talk with everyone tomorrow about the change.  There was no way Kabata would be able to get in, no way he could make good on his threats.  And they could pass the night in safety, laughing and drinking, and deal with him tomorrow, whatever pathetic move he decided to try and make.

The universe would have to pull out a lot more than  _this_ to scare Aziraphale.

* * *

“Michael.  Michael, look at me.   _Look_  at me.”

Michael was panting, his wings drawn out, his eyes half lidded, covered in sweat.

“It’s okay,” said Angelo. “You’re okay.”

“ _I_ wanted to kill her,” said Michael.  “Me,  _I_ should have killed Agares.  I’m the bearer of divine wrath.”

Michael seemed to have a bit too  _much_  wrath built up inside him. Angelo took Michael’s head in his hands. “ _It’s okay._ ”

"Uriel said this was going to happen,” said Michael, wiping an eye with his palm.  “That my bloodlust was going to get worse the longer the war was put off.  That I would start to deteriorate.   Because I’m…I’m…”

“How can I help you, Michael?  What do you need?”

“ _I need to kill something._ ”

Angelo could only say “It’s okay” so many times when it obviously wasn’t true.  He moved a strand of hair out of Michael’s face.  “I’m here.”

They both caught a spark of light and a fizzle out of the corner of their eyes.  A piece of parchment fluttered down, landing seal-upright.  It was from Gabriel.

Angelo picked it up. It was addressed to Michael, but he opened it anyway. And then he tried to hide it from Michael, but it was too late, because the archangel had been reading it over his shoulder.

“Michael,  _don’t._ ”

Michael pushed him off and drew his sword.  “Get out of the way, Angelo.”


	11. Bloodbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains gore/blood/death
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/159309296825/aziraphales-legion-part-11-bloodbath

Let me tell you about Michael’s sword.

An angel or demon’s weapon is powered by their aura, an extension of their celestial or infernal essence.  As a principality, Aziraphale’s weapon is versatile and simply enough to get the job done, but Michael’s, the metonymical sword of Heaven, is in another class altogether. It is the only sword worthy of Heaven’s mightiest warrior, heavy silver steel embossed with holy iconography with a jeweled handle, longer than the bodies of some very short demons.  Michael is the only one capable of wielding such an object. It is the ultimate holy weapon, capable of instantly obliterating out of existence any demon it kills, whether in a corporation or not.  Its reflection burns with a divine fire that any demon can feel coming by the hairs standing up on their neck.  It is the only thing in the universe that can keep up with Michael’s unquenchable thirst for blood.

It was also the first thing Oryss saw when she tiptoed up onto the roof, a small plate in her hands.

“Michael?” she called out, her animalistic eyes dilating to let her see in the dark.  “We were just putting everything away, and I noticed you hadn’t eaten anything.  So I thought you might like…”

She trailed off when she saw the look Michael had on his face.

“Oryss, get back!” Angelo screamed.

Michael’s sword came out of its sheath in a second, slamming through her chest and appearing from the other side, spearing her, the surprise and light fading from her eyes as the life drained from her body.

Blood spattered off the blade as he withdrew it.  He turned and dove off the roof, pulling in his enormous wings to spin around and angle towards the front of the shop.

* * *

Crowley was giggling beside him.  He might have been laughing about the fact that two of Heaven’s mightiest warriors had gotten stuck doing the dishes, but he could also have been laughing because he was drunk, and he made delightful and funny sounds when he was drunk.

Aziraphale tugged him into the bedroom, feeling hands under his clothes in darkness.  They shut the door without even turning on the lights to see what was happening.

“I love you,” said Crowley.

“I love _you_.”

A noise suddenly banged rapidly at the window.  The lights snapped on miraculously, and Aziraphale and Crowley disentangled themselves from each other, trying to smooth down their hair and straighten their clothes.

The window squeaked open and Angelo appeared.  There was blood splattered across his face.  “We have a problem.”

* * *

Botis had rushed upstairs as soon as he heard the noise.  Another demon collided with him full-tilt.  Since Botis was the one in armor, the other was the one who got hurt, and she sat rubbing her nose for a moment before getting up again and bolting out the door, shouting “Run!”

“What?” said Botis, bewildered.  

He could feel an angelic presence coming near, and it was frenzied with wild emotions.  Botis drew his sword, gripping it with two shaking hands, focused on the corner, feeling it getting nearer and nearer—

Rosia rounded the corner, pulling Rava.

“ _Somebody_ , you scared me,” said Botis, exhaling.

“Botis, something’s happening,” said Rosia.  “Oryss is dead, someone’s—”

A huge _bang_ resounded nearby, the sound of steel splintering wood.

“Get behind me,” said Botis.

Botis had been a warrior angel before he fell, a power like Victoria as a matter of fact.  He had used his infernal weapon for its purpose of killing angels exactly once, a few years after the creation of the Earth.  He had convinced the higher-ups he would be more useful as a field agent shortly afterwards and hadn’t used his sword for an actual fight since then.  It had always felt wrong in his hands.

But he was ready to use it again.  Now he had someone behind him who needed protecting.  He would give it his best shot.

“ _I am the sword of Heaven_ ,” boomed a voice, accompanied by another _bang_.  “ _The bearer of divine wrath_.”

Botis knew then that he was going to die.  It was too late to run, because he could hear booted footsteps rapidly approaching and the scraping of a sword that was too long tearing wallpaper off.

* * *

“Michael got an order to kill all the demons here,” said Angelo.

“What?” said Aziraphale. “Surely he wouldn’t go through with it?”

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” said Angelo.

“He hasn’t…?” said Crowley.

“He has.  Please, we need to hurry up.”

“Aziraphale!” said Victoria, appearing in the doorway.  She had Noah by the arm.  “We’re under attack. I figured Noah was the target so I brought him—”

“It’s not a demon,” said Angelo.  “It’s Michael.”

“Oh no,” said Victoria, the colour draining from her face.

“Okay, okay,” said Aziraphale.  “It’s good you brought him, this way he’s safe.  Angelo, let’s go find Michael and convince him to stop.”

“You and Crowley should try the roof,” said Angelo.

“The roof?”

He hesitated briefly. “Oryss is still up there…”

“Oh somebody,” breathed Crowley.

“Crowley, maybe you can still save her…”

“Right,” said Crowley. “Aziraphale, we go up to the roof. Angelo, go into the shop. Victoria, stay here with Noah.

“Right.”

“Victoria.” Aziraphale pinned her with a glare. “ _Stay here_ with him.”

Victoria got an irritated look on her face.  “Aziraphale, _go_.”

They dissipated in flurry of motion.  Crowley and Aziraphale tore their wings out to get up to the roof faster.

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale when they got up there and saw the body lying skewed on the floor.

Crowley knelt and took Oryss in his arms.  “She’s already dead.”

“Here,” Aziraphale said, finding a piece of parchment, showing it to Crowley.

_To the archangel Michael,_

_The demonic forces around Aziraphale represent a rising safety hazard.  You are hereby ordered to destroy all infernal agents on the premises._

_-The archangel Gabriel._

Crowley took the corner of the parchment, his other arm still around Oryss.  “But…why?”

“This is Gabriel’s signature,” said Aziraphale.  “And his seal.  But he hasn’t taken notice of this before!  Why would he start now?  And to just order mass slaughter…”

Aziraphale’s gaze suddenly jumped into sharp focus on Crowley’s hand on the corner of the paper. “Crowley.”

Crowley seemed to realize what he was doing and removed his hand.

“This isn’t from Heaven,” said Aziraphale.  “Your hand would be burning if it was.  This isn’t from Gabriel.”

“Someone must have a copy of his seal,” said Crowley.  “Or a stolen one.  But who would have that?  And be able to forge his signature?”

Aziraphale gasped and grabbed Crowley’s arm, dragging him back towards the stairs.  “We need to get back inside _now._ ”

“What?”

“ _Kabata_.”

* * *

Noah was crying. Victoria was desperately trying to comfort him, but she herself was acutely freaked out and that made things difficult.

“There, there,” she said, which was something she had an idea you were supposed to say to crying humans.

“I’m scared,” said Noah.

Victoria looked out the open window and grimaced.   “Me too, kid.”

* * *

“Gabriel and Michael are the same rank!” said Aziraphale as they hustled back down the fire escape. “Surely Michael could have contended the orders.”

“You know he wouldn’t want to,” said Crowley.

“Kabata can’t get into the shop,” said Aziraphale.  “He has to stay out.  As long as we can keep Noah away from him, we can keep the situation under control.  We have to try and find Michael before this goes any farther.”

They reached the open window.  Aziraphale swooped back into the bedroom, only to realize that Crowley had not followed him and was dithering on the windowsill.

“Come on,” he snapped. “What’s the problem?”

“The glyphs won’t let me in.”

Aziraphale cursed and used his powers to wipe a hole in the sigils that would allow him entry.

The second the supernatural wall around the window went down, a pair of red eyes appeared directly behind Crowley.  Singed wings spread wide on either side of him, accompanied by the _shing_ of a sword coming out of its scabbard.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screamed.

Here is how Crowley knew Victoria had meant what she said earlier about saving his life again in a heartbeat: she hurled herself out the window, battering Crowley to the floor and out of the path of the swipe of the sword.  Her own sword was halfway out of its sheath when she reached Kabata.

She could not bring it up fast enough to stop the blow from hitting her.  And she was only a power against an archdemon’s aura, even one who was not warrior-class.  The infernal weapon hit her full force, and Kabata spun and pushed her as she reached him, using her own moment to propel her over the railing.  Her body and her decapitated head both tumbled off the balcony, plunging out of sight.

Noah let out a cry of distress.  Kabata’s eyes swiveled towards him.

Aziraphale was stuck in place by those burning eyes.  Kabata looked so eerily similar, yet so, _so_ different.  His skin was so white it almost looked like it had been bleached, red veins crisscrossing its surface.  His hair was white now as well, which contrasted sharply with the pair of coal-black horns spiraling out from it.  And Aziraphale could not bring himself to process what he was seeing as the archdemon who had once been his commander and friend flicked the blood of an angel Camael had valued so much off his sword, stepping into the window through the hole Aziraphale had just made.

Crowley, mercifully ignored, scrabbled to his feet.

Noah gave another frightened wail as the archdemon scooped him up with one enormous paw.  Aziraphale suddenly realized he needed to do something.

Kabata leapt back out the window and out of the angel’s grasp.

“Come _back_ here,” Aziraphale said angrily, materializing his sword.

He gave a startled shout as he was tackled to the ground from an unexpected angle, the bedroom tumbling around in his vision.  He pushed his assailant away, but by the time he righted himself, Kabata and Noah were gone.

The weight holding him down disappeared.  Anger flared inside him when saw that it was Crowley who had stopped him.

“What did you do that for?” Aziraphale said, giving him a shove.  “He’s taken Noah!”

“Have you already forgotten how we got our asses handed to us last time we met him?” Crowley yelled. “He’s still an archdemon.  He just murdered _Victoria._   _You_ wouldn’t have accomplished anything except getting yourself killed.”

Aziraphale knew that he was right, and hated it.  “Come on, let’s—”

A scream split the air, nearby but muffled by walls.  It dissolved into sobbing.

They had to write Noah off as a lost cause.  They had failed.  They had to do what they could.

“We have to try and find Michael and stop this before anyone else dies,” said Aziraphale.

They found the source of the scream a moment later when they came out into the hallway: Rosia, clutching a destroyed body that must have once been Rava.

They both stared at her with horror, stared until they noticed the decapitated body of Botis nearby, and then stared at that.

“What….what do we do?” said Crowley.  “Oh my god, what do we do?”

“Master!” called a voice. Adramelech appeared in the doorway a moment later, dragging Abraxas, who was missing both her legs and disgorging blood at an alarming rate.  “Master, please help!”

“I’ll take care of this,” said Crowley.  Adramelech dropped Abraxas down, and Crowley let his oft-unused healing powers flow through him, staunching the blood and mending the wound as fast as he could.

“Master, what should I do?” said Adramelech.  His cheeks were smeared with tear streaks of mascara.

“Adramelech, _run_ ,” said Crowley.  “Just get as far away as you can.”

“I can’t leave you,” said Adramelech, dismayed.  “That’s cowardice.”

“That’s an order, Adramelech,” said Aziraphale.  “There’s nothing you can do right now.”

Adramelech looked at them through eyes barely holding back tears, then leapt to the window, spread his wings, and disappeared into the night.

“Angel, Abraxas is going to die if I leave her,” said Crowley.  “Go find Michael.”

“No,” said Aziraphale. “We have to stay together.”

“I’m not going to let her die,” snapped Crowley.  “And the longer you stand here doing nothing, the longer Michael has to rampage.   _Go._ ”

Aziraphale realized he was right, took a deep breath, whirled around, and took off.

* * *

As promised, Maltha had sobered up at the drop of a hat.  And now that she had gotten Beth safely out of the way, she could do as she said she would if Michael hurt any of these demons.

Despite Michael’s reputation, Maltha was never afraid of him.  She was not afraid of anyone.  Because God had given her domain over life itself and had then been foolish enough to sever her from her celestial role, which meant she could use it however she pleased.

Her staff sizzled and vibrated in her hand as she summoned it, already pouring smoke and liquid death by the force of her rage.  Lesser demons scrambled to get out of her way.  Her fully manifested claws scraped the wood floor as she moved forwards, an angry, deliberate figure moving against the tide of panicked bodies fleeing in the same direction.

Two celestial figures blocked her way, swords drawn.  It was the two warrior angels who had volunteered to support her against Agares.

Maltha let out a fearsome hiss, her voice booming and warping as she said, “You would turn on me so quickly?”

“I’m sorry, Maltha,” said one of the angels.  “Michael is carrying out his orders, and it’s our job to assist him.  We can’t let you interfere.”

“You intend to strike me down so that Michael can slaughter those you were just dining with peacefully? Why?”

Neither of them looked very pleased about it, but nevertheless they stood their ground. “It is our duty.  Someone must do it.”

“I’ll have you know no one has ever betrayed me and lived.”

They both leveled their swords at her.  

The first second of their fight consisted of Maltha moving as a blur to the side, flanking the angels and putting one angel between herself and the other so they could not both attack her at once.

In the next second, Maltha’s staff came up and clashed against the sword of the angel closest to her to a shower of sparks. Simultaneously, her aura surged outwards, pressing against the angel.

Maltha had a very good imagination, and she was using it to imagine some very nasty things indeed.

In the next second, Maltha’s staff slid down the angel’s sword, parried away, but it just barely brushed against his leg.

Had her weapon been a sword, it would have only been a small cut, but the contact was enough. Maltha’s aura broke through as a torrent, seizing the warrior from head to toe, and by the look on his face he could tell he had made a grave mistake it was too late to correct.

Maltha squeezed.

The angel cried out in pain as every bone in his body snapped simultaneously. He fell to the floor just as the second angel reached Maltha, but the warrior made the fatal error of being surprised by her companion’s sudden destruction and therefore not bringing her sword up fast enough.

Maltha visualized a severance of the neck this time, and swung her staff like a baseball bat, knocking the warrior’s head completely off.

Her body collapsed next to her companion, who was still moving feebly.  Maltha stepped forwards and crushed his head with one clawed foot, sneering, and he fell still.

She looked up to see that a trio of warrior angels had been watching her this whole time, unsure of what to do.  She flared her feathers out, voice erupting like a volcano.  “Anyone else?”

They all drew back.

“Then stand out of the way.”

They let her pass. She strode past them with determined steps.

Her skin began to smoke, transforming with her anger.  She coughed, and embers spewed out.  She had not taken this form since she had fought with Satan.

“ _Michael!_ ” she screamed, a warbled crow’s call, booming throughout the entire block, laced with poisonous infernal fire.

* * *

“I tried to get out of the way…”

“Don’t try and talk,” said Crowley.  “I’ve got you.  I won’t let you die.”

Abraxas closed her eyes, breathing shallowly.  Rosia was still crying in the corner.

Crowley heard a trill, and Mittens appeared, nosing at Abraxas’s hand. “Hey, look who it is,” said Crowley.  “Wouldn’t be a party without Mittens.”

“Hey, girl,” said Abraxas, and then coughed up more blood.

Mittens suddenly hissed, dashing away and pressing herself against the wall.

Michael had appeared in the hallway, drenched in blood, his sword dragging on the ground.  

Crowley remained where he was with his hands in Abraxas’s wounds, frozen with fear, his gaze on the greaves on Michael’s shins.  Abraxas spluttered.

There were heavy footsteps as Michael’s boots came closer to him.  Crowley’s eyes remained locked on the greaves, which were now a foot from his face.

Everything was silent, except for Rosia, who was still crying.

Crowley dared crane his neck to look into Michael’s eyes.  The archangel had a lopsided grin on his face and tapped Crowley’s arm with the flat of his sword.  “Hey, what’s that look for?”

Crowley did not respond, thinking that surely Michael should recognize fear of death when he saw it.

“You think I’d forget, Crowley?  Come on. You’re a _celestial_ agent.  You got a commendation from Heaven and everything.”

“Oh,” said Crowley weakly. “Ha ha, yeah, I guess you’re—”

Crowley whipped his hands away and protected his head as Michael’s sword came down, piercing Abraxas’s chest and thumping into the floorboards beneath her.  The demon jerked, gasping.

Abraxas let out one final moan of pain as the blade withdrew from her body, then fell still.  Crowley could not remove his gaze from her face, which had gone slack, eyes unfocused starting back at him.

“You know, Crowley,” said Michael, squatting down, and Crowley looked back to him with terror. “Gabriel didn’t want to give you a commendation, but Raphael and I made him.”

He spoke as though he weren’t standing over the battered remains of someone Crowley had just been trying to save.  He brought his blade up over his thigh and wiped blood off it with one hand.  “I told Gabriel you should get one even though you were a demon. That seems fair, doesn’t it?  Just because you’re a demon doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a commendation.”

Crowley watched in horror as Michael idly licked blood off his thumb as he spoke.  “You know?” the archangel continued, as though he wanted a response.

Crowley was afraid that if he tried to dart away, Michael would act on reflex and skewer him.  “Y-yeah,” he managed.  “Th-thanks.”

A feline hiss sounded behind them.  Michael looked over his shoulder to see Mittens was still staring him down, hackles raised.

“Hey Mittens,” said Michael, dragging his blade behind him as he teetered over to her.  He put one hand on her flank to pet her, and she hissed fiercely and swatted at him, but her claws fell harmlessly on his armored gloves.

Crowley sat there with his hands on his knees, looking at Abraxas’s body, listening to Rosia crying.

“ _Michael!_ ” said a very loud, wrathful noise, and Michael’s head snapped upwards.

The wall suddenly groaned, snapped, and tore inwards as though a train had barreled through it. A monster appeared to grab Michael’s throat, an enormous birdlike creature with eyes glowing red like two hot coals, black feathers roiling and smoking and boiling, radiating heat and fire and anger.

Michael jumped back and away, lifting his sword up, his eyes widening and his face breaking into a delighted grin.

Crowley knew exactly what was going to happen.  Maltha and Michael were going to fight until one of them was dead, possibly destroying the shop in the process, possibly killing any bystanders who got in their way in the process, and possibly leaving them open to attack from hordes of demons who suddenly found a way at the targets that had previously been unavailable in the process.

He had to stop them. If he could get Michael to understand what had happened maybe he would stop, and maybe he could get Maltha to calm down if Michael stopped attacking.

Maltha’s maw opened, a black abyss lined with sharp white teeth dripping tar, and dark fog snorted from her nostrils.  “You will not kill again.”

“Come at me, then,” said Michael, extending his sword.

“Wait!” said Crowley.

Maltha took one step back, a fighting stance, and then launched herself, tackling Michael and driving him through the opposite wall and out of sight, leaving a trail of burnt wood in her wake.

Crowley found the strength to move, then, and hustled to follow them.

* * *

The complex made by the bookshop, second floor, and adjacent flat had not really seemed all that big before, and yet Aziraphale still found himself unable to pin down Michael’s location in it.

He told himself he would be able to just follow the trail of destruction, but the problem was the destruction was everywhere.  Michael was apparently moving very fast, making circles, and sometimes going through walls.

Bodies already littered the floor.  The fact that they were not all demons told him someone was already putting up a fight, and he had an idea of who it was.  He had to stop Maltha and Michael before those two titans locked onto each other, or they might not be able to pull them apart again.

He stumbled into the bookshop and found the couple he had caught in the closet cowering behind an overturned shelf.  The angel was on top of the demon, glaring at him and hugging her close protectively.

“Where’s Michael?”

“Don’t know,” said the angel.  “Been hiding.”

“ _Michael!_ ” boomed a furious voice, rattling the windowpanes.

“No,” said Aziraphale. He left the couple and dashed towards the source of the voice.  “No, no, no…”

He found the two of them fighting in the flat, which was already completely destroyed, already entrenched in combat.

“Michael!” shouted Aziraphale, straining to be heard over the sounds of the clash and desperately trying to come up with something that would grab their attention.  “Maltha!  Stop!”

Crowley appeared behind them from the next room, looking at them with apprehension, apparently trying to figure out the same thing as him.

Michael’s sword made enormous clangs as it bashed against Maltha’s staff, and with each blow Maltha let out a pressurized sizzle like a machine venting steam, working methodically, getting closer and closer to Michael, pushing him back.  The archangel looked like he was living, an expression of excitement taking over all his features.  Maltha, by contrast, looked absolutely hell-bent on murder.  But both of them looked like they wouldn’t stop for anything.

“Maltha, stop!” said Crowley, drawing dangerously close to the fight, waving his arms.

“Crowley, be careful!” said Aziraphale, trying to edge in, but jumping back because of the swinging weapons.  Both of the combatants ignored them, totally focused on one another, weapons whirling almost too fast to follow.

“You’re going to get us all killed, you bloody morons!” Crowley yelled.

“Crowley, step back!” Aziraphale called, now focused on how alarmingly near Crowley was to Maltha and the swinging weapons.

“Michael, hold on—” began Crowley, but Michael had drawn back his sword and launched it at Maltha full speed.

Michael’s sword is the ultimate demon-killing weapon.  This blow had been intended for the archdemon and was delivered with full force.

What I am trying to say is that when it accidentally hit Crowley instead, it killed him instantly.

Michael didn’t see him or how close he was; his blade deflected off Maltha’s staff and slid directly into the lesser demon.  Aziraphale saw it coming a split-second before it happened and tried to make a move to stop it, but could not move fast enough.  Crowley himself did not seem to see it coming until the sword was spearing through him.  Maltha was the first one to realize what had happened and fizzled out into human form, her face turning to horror and shock.  Michael did not seem to understand until he saw who his sword had skewered.

“Oh no,” he said, pulling his sword out, Crowley falling to the floor.

“Look what you’ve done!” Maltha screamed.  “What did you—”

“Maltha!” said Aziraphale rushing over, kneeling, and picking up Crowley’s body.  The demon’s head hung limply.

“It wasn’t my fault!” she said.  “I didn’t—”

“ _Maltha!_ ” he yelled again, and then she seemed to realize what he meant.  She knelt beside him and took Crowley, stretched him out, and put her hands on him.

“Come on, come on,” said Aziraphale, watching the healing power flowing through him, but not feeling any resurgence of his life force.

Michael seemed like he was just now realizing what it was he had been doing; he looked in a daze, staring at Crowley.

“I didn’t mean to,” said Michael.

“Well, you _did_ ,” snapped Aziraphale.  “Now get back!  You bloody animal!”

Michael stood by them, dumbfounded, seemingly unsure of what to do.

“Get _away_ ,” said Aziraphale. “Just get out!  Leave!”

Michael sheathed his sword, spread his wings, and disappeared out through the hole he and Maltha had torn in the wall.  Angelo finally appeared, far too late to do anything, and took in the scene for one moment before leaping out to follow him.

The gaping wound stretching from Crowley’s sternum down to his stomach began to writhe and slither back together under Maltha’s hands.  The glassy, unfocused look in his half-lidded eyes did not go away.

“Don’t just heal his corporation,” said Aziraphale.  “Heal _him_.”

“I’m trying,” said Maltha, tears beginning to well in her eyes.  “Aziraphale, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale snapped.  “Focus.”

“I can’t feel him at all,” said Maltha.

“Try harder!”

“He’s not there!”

“He’s still in there!”

The wound closed up. Crowley did not begin to move.

“Come on, come on,” said Aziraphale.  “Crowley! Wake up!”

Maltha removed her bloody hands from Crowley’s body.  “Aziraphale.”

“No,” said Aziraphale. “ _Don’t_.  Keep going.”

“Aziraphale.”

“Wake up!  Wake up, damn you!”

“Aziraphale, he’s….”

“ _Don’t._ ”

“He was already dead. He’s dead.”

The two stared at each other from across Crowley’s body.

“What good are you!” Aziraphale exploded, elbowing her out of the way and cradling Crowley’s body. “All your boasting and prideful words! And you can’t even do one simple thing!”

Maltha shifted backwards and hid her face in her hands.

“You do nothing but talk about what a powerful demon and healer you are!  But what have you ever done?  Who have you ever actually helped?”

“My healer,” she sobbed. “My poor healer.”

“Master…” said a voice.

Aziraphale looked up and saw through vision blurred with tears that demons were easing out from hiding towards him.  A few angels hesitated in the doorway, looking at him with equally distressed expressions.

“Get out!” Aziraphale yelled.  “Get out! All of you!  I can’t even look at you right now!”

“Aziraphale…” Maltha said.

“Get out!  Everybody get out now!  I want everyone gone!”

Maltha stood.  “If that’s what you really want.”

She was gone with a rustle of wings.  The angels backed out without comment.  The demons whispered rapidly to each other back and forth, but eventually drew back into the shadows.

Aziraphale slid his hands under Crowley’s limp body and pressed his face into his chest.

His heartbeat was silenced.  But he was still warm.  

Aziraphale let the tears flow as he felt demonic and angelic presences winking out of the shop.  The fires in the shop set during the fight were extinguished seemingly of their own accord, as if somebody’s afterthought.  Then it was just him.  Alone.

He squeezed Crowley tighter, holding him, refusing to entertain the notion that his body heat would fade eventually.

He sobbed.  He had no idea how long that lasted.  He quit when he had no more tears left.

He withdrew his face. Crowley was still motionless.  His eyes had fallen closed.  He looked like he was sleeping.

Aziraphale gathered him up, holding him as tightly to himself as he could, and walked over to the bedroom.  He set Crowley on his side of the bed, arranging his head on the pillow.  Then he stretched out next to him, one hand on his shoulder, holding onto every bit of his body heat as it slowly dwindled and finally vanished, leaving him cold, colder than even a reptile should be.


	12. The Flood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/159388808680/aziraphales-legion-part-12-the-flood

 

It was shaping up to be a chilly night.  Light from a full moon beat coldly onto the Earth, and amidst this sterile, black sky, a figure with a pair of enormous white wings hovered, covered in blood washed silver in the darkness, eyes hollow.

Angelo shot up into the sky after him, managing to get close enough to him in between wingbeats to put his hands on his face.  “Michael. Michael, look at me.”

“They’re going to punish me again,” said Michael.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Angelo.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry, Angelo.  I shouldn’t have come down here.”

“You say that every time.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I remember the snake, Angelo.  It was so long ago.  I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“Michael, that order wasn’t from Gabriel.  The other archangels probably don’t even know what’s going on.  If Gabriel knew where we were, he would have been bombarding us with messages to come back up this entire time.”

Michael’s lip quavered. His eyes roved around the dark treetops around them, where the rest of his warriors were slowly appearing.  “I know it wasn’t from Gabriel.  Kabata thought I was too stupid to remember the difference between Camael’s and Gabriel’s handwriting.  But I did it anyway.”

“Michael…”

“It’s—It’s different when they have names, Angelo.  They could have all been Crowley to someone.”

“Michael, what’s done is done.  It can’t be helped now.”

“All the demons I’ve ever killed—they could have been someone’s Crowley.”

“It can’t be helped now.”

Michael’s face contorted into anger, and with a mighty heave he hurled his sword into the distance.

“Michael” said Angelo.

“I don’t want to feel this way,” sobbed Michael.  “I killed him.  I hurt one of my only friends in the deepest way possible.  I didn’t even realize what I was doing.  I’ve done nothing but hurt others over and over again, Angelo.  Is this all that I am?  Just something to make everyone as miserable and tormented as possible?”

“That’s not true, Michael,” said Angelo.  “Come on. Think of all the good you’ve done.”

“It’s nothing that can be balanced out by the oceans of blood I’ve spilled!” he wailed.  “Angelo, why did He _make_ me like this?  Why do I feel like I’m dying from some animal hunger that I can’t sate?”

“It’s okay.  You’re okay, Michael.”

“It’s not okay.  You keep saying it’s okay but it’s not.  The world is changing.  Everyone is tired and wants the fighting to be over.  The war isn’t going to happen.  What am I without the war?  What good am I?  The world is changing and everyone just wants peace and there won’t be any room for me. I just want peace but there’s no place for me in peace.”

“The war _will_ happen, Michael.  Don’t worry.”

“I don’t _want_ the war,” Michael thundered, tears streaming down his cheeks.  “I don’t _want_ it, Angelo.”

“What?  But…why not?”

There was a small _pop_ as a figure materialized in the darkness, eyes shining red from the reflected moonlight.

Angelo quickly summoned a light and threw it up to illuminate the newcomer.  It was Maltha, the artificial light casting shadows at strange angles on her face.  What remained of the demons from the shop were slowly teleporting onto the scene behind her, one by one.

Michael’s warriors drew their weapons and turned to face them.  Maltha remained silent, not taking out her staff, her eyes burning into Michael. When she finally spoke, it was to say:

“Michael, I would like to examine you.”

“No way!” said Angelo. “You were just trying to kill him!”

“ _Something_ is wrong,” said Maltha.  “Surely you must sense it.  Need I remind you my primary function is as a healer?”  

“And why would you care about him?” said Angelo.

“Just let me look at him.”

The warriors all gave exclamations as Michael flapped his wings to get onto the ground.  Maltha descended to follow, her feet crunching on the hard earth.

The warriors alighted in the trees around them, the boughs bowing under their weight.  The demons perched in the trees opposite, overlooking the scene on the ground.

Michael strode forwards and wiped blood off his face.  “Go ahead, Maltha.”

“Michael, you don’t have to do this,” said Angelo, rushing to catch up to him.

“Let her do it!” Michael yelled.  Angelo drew back.

Michael turned away from him and to Maltha.  “Go on, then.”

Maltha took out a small light and shined it into his eye.  She put her hand on his neck and felt his pulse.

The warriors shouted in alarm and drew their weapons as her claws pricked him and drew blood. Michael winced, but only a trickle of blood came out.

Maltha ran a finger through the rivulet of blood, then brought it to her mouth and tasted it.

“You’re disgusting,” said one of the angels.

Maltha’s heightened senses allowed her to taste something troubling in the blood.  “Michael, may I examine your aura?”

“No way!” shouted one of the warriors.  “No way!”

Michael lowered his head miserably.

“I will be gentle.”

Michael’s defenses came down, exposing his bare aura.  Maltha’s own aura surged outwards and pressed against it, prodding.  Michael’s hand shot out to grab her arm, his grip panicked and crushing.

“It’s all right,” said Maltha.  “This may feel a bit strange.”

A tentacle of Maltha’s aura slithered into Michael’s, testing and exploring his.  He flinched, and the warriors once again looked alarmed.

“It’s all right,” Maltha murmured.  “You’re doing very well.  Almost done.”

The probe stopped. Maltha’s face took on a fearful expression.

“Maltha?” said Michael.

Maltha’s aura withdrew. Michael backed away from her and brought his defenses back up. “Well?”

“I…”  She looked wildly from Michael to Angelo and back again. “I…I can’t save you.  I don’t know if anyone can.”

“What?” said Angelo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Maltha’s eyes flew to all the angels in attendance, back to the demons, and finally rested on Michael again. Her expression softened.

“Go to Armageddon. I’m sure that’s what you really want to do anyway.”

She turned and took off, the demons taking to the air behind her, leaving the company of angels alone in the stillness of the night.

 

* * *

…

…

…

…

… _wha?_

_…what?_

_…where am I?_

YOU’RE DEAD.

_…dead?  …But I’m immortal._

_…_ OBVIOUSLY NOT.

_…but…_

I DON’T SEE WHY YOU’RE SO SURPRISED.  YOU’RE BY NO MEANS THE FIRST DEMON TO BE STRUCK DOWN BY THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL.

_…but…_

IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, KNOW THAT NO ONE IS TRULY IMMORTAL.

_…no one?_

NO ONE.

… _it doesn’t, really._

WELL, NO ONE CAN SAY I DIDN’T TRY.  

_…do I have to go?  …can’t I stay on Earth?_

IF IT WERE AS SIMPLE AS ASKING, DO YOU THINK ANYONE WOULD EVER DIE?

_…can’t I... be a ghost?_

…YOU CAN’T BE BOTH A GHOST AND A DEMON.

…

CAN WE MOVE THIS ALONG? I HAVE SOMEWHERE I NEED TO BE.

 

* * *

 

“Young master. Please.  I am _begging_ you to keep your hellhound silent.”

Adam sheepishly took Dog’s muzzle in his hands.  “Sorry.”

Adramelech turned back towards the bookshop, looking down at it from the very same rooftop where Agares had met her untimely end.  He was in his armor, because even though he thought it was unwieldy, unfashionable, and loathsome, he wanted to live.

The sky was twisting into some interesting formations.  All the demons on the roof were admiring it.  Only Adramelech ignored it, focusing on the shop.  He was just about done waiting.

“I’m going to go back in.”

“He said he wanted to be alone,” said Adam.

“Adramelech,” said Maltha softly.  “This is painful for all of us, but you need to be honest with yourself.  Aziraphale was never fit to be your master.  We should leave him here and proceed to Armageddon.”

Adramelech pointed one finger at her. “I was serious. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I swore loyalty to him, I _meant_ it.  I’m not leaving without him.  I will follow him into death if he wishes it.”

“Adramelech, you do not have to swear loyalty to anyone anymore,” said Maltha.  “We all know it was only for show.”

Adramelech ripped out his wings, incandescent blue jewels that glittered against the chaotic sky as he clambered over the edge of the roof.  “Leave without both of us if you want to.  But I’m not leaving him behind.”

He dove off.

* * *

_“Aziraphale.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Camael sighed and rubbed his temples.  “’Sorry’ doesn’t really cut it.”_

_Aziraphale blushed and squirmed, nervous.  Camael put a set of papers in front of him.  “I managed to argue for leniency, so they’ve just demoted you.  You’re a principality now.”_

_“A wh—?  Oh, that’s fair I suppose…”_

_“You realize principalities are field agents right? It’ll be a lot different.”_

_“I think I can handle it.”_

_“I hope that you can.”  Camael tented his hands.  “Please, for your own sake, in the future…Just do as you’re told.”_

It was a clap of thunder that woke him up.  The blinds were drawn, so it was dim in the bedroom, the faint slats of grey light falling on Crowley’s still face.

Aziraphale reached out and brushed his fingers across his cheek.  “Come on, you lazy serpent.”

The storm outside rumbled and growled.

“We can’t sleep all day. It’s seven thirty.  It’s time to get up.  We can’t do this every morning.  You need to wake up.  You silly serpent.”  He ran his fingers through his hair.  “It’s time to wake up. Please.  Please wake up.”

“Master.”

Aziraphale looked up to see Adramelech in the doorway, clad in his armor.  He did not make any attempt to acknowledge the newcomer.

Adramelech took on a sorrowful expression.  “I’m so sorry, master.”

“How do they do it?” said Aziraphale, taking Crowley’s limp, pale hand in his own.  “Humans?  They go through life every day knowing this is eventually going to happen to the person they love the most.  How do they cope with it?  How do they keep going?”

“Master,” said Adramelech. “Noah has figured out how to use his powers.  The signs of Armageddon have started and are proceeding at an incredible rate.  The final battle is drawing near.  Earth is beginning to transform.  Once the other archangels receive notice of what’s happening and get involved, there will be no turning back.”

“I don’t care,” said Aziraphale.

Adramelech looked like he had been physically struck.  “Lord, we need you…”

“Find someone else. I’m no master or lord or battle commander or anything.  I’m not your boss.  I never was.”

Adramelech swallowed. “You are the reason why we all rebelled. You showed us we could choose humanity. That the Earth was worth saving. Are you telling me you no longer care whether it lives or dies?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, still looking at Crowley’s unmoving body with hollow eyes.

“Please, I beg of you, whatever it is that humans have that keeps them going, please find it in yourself. We need you.  I need you.”

“Then you’re doomed to be sorely disappointed,” said Aziraphale.  “You’d best leave now.”

“Lord, I—”

“That’s an order.”

There was silence for a few seconds.  Then the sound of armored footsteps moving away.  Then silence again.

Aziraphale raised his hand and stroked Crowley’s stone-cold cheek again.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m not strong enough. I…wasn’t...strong enough.”

He closed his eyes, wishing to sleep himself into oblivion.

“ _You._ ”

Aziraphale opened his eyes again and saw that Beth was standing in the doorway, looking enraged. “What did you do that for? Adramelech was the only one who got fired up defending you, and you sent him back out with his tail between his legs.”

Aziraphale turned back without acknowledging her.

“Stand up.”

He did not respond.

“I’m talking to you. Stand up and look me in the eye so I can slap you.”

The anger in Beth’s voice was enough to get him to sit upright, but nothing more.

“Look at me.”

He looked at her. She slapped him.

“You petty creature,” Aziraphale snapped.  “You cannot _possibly_ imagine the pain I feel right now.”

“You angels!” Beth said. “You always act like you’re better than me!  But then you break down at the slightest provocation!”

“I have shared almost everything on this planet with him for _six millennia,_ only to see him destroyed in a few seconds.  Nothing you could experience could compare.”

Beth’s eyes welled with tears.  “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost someone?” she shouted.  “You don’t know anything about me!  You think I don’t know pain?  You think I’m petty and shallow?  Try losing your entire family! Try being cast out for not living up to expectations! Try doing all that and still carrying on as though nothing’s changed!”

Beth slapped his other cheek. “You’re so _selfish,_ ” she said, tears breaking free and streaming down her cheeks.  “ _Life_ is pain.  It’s full of pain and suffering and it’s your job to _keep going_. Because if you don’t, it’ll all go to shit.  Because like it or not, the world doesn’t stop moving just because you’re hurting.”

“What do you know?”

“What do I know?  I know what it takes to keep going when your entire world is destroyed, Aziraphale.  You drink yourself into a stupor or you get drugs from the doctor or you overeat or you start going out and having sex with complete strangers or _whatever it takes_ to medicate and keep going, but you _keep going._  Because there is no other choice on Earth.  You love the Earth?  You think it’s all fun and games?  This is the price you pay.  It does not stop when you want it to.  Keep up.”

Aziraphale looked down at his own shoes.

“Do you not care about them anymore, Aziraphale?  The demons who are left and depending on you?  The billions of humans?  Is the Earth not worth saving anymore just because Crowley’s not here now?  Think of all the people who would have to experience what you’re feeling right now when the people they care about die.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut.

Beth sighed, and Aziraphale felt warm hands on his own.  “Aziraphale…” she said, her voice softer now.  “Do you think this is what he would want?  Do you think he fell in love with you because you lie down and quit when it gets tough?”

“How am I supposed to keep going after this?” Aziraphale sobbed.  “You act like it should be easy.”

“It’s not easy,” said Beth, putting a hand on his head.  “But it’s Earth.  You’ll have eternity to mope later, Aziraphale, if we can stop the apocalypse. Are you up for it?”

Aziraphale looked into her eyes.

She squeezed his hand.

“All right,” he said. “All right, Beth.  Just give me a few more minutes.  I’ll come outside when I’m ready.”

Beth nodded, gave him a final squeeze, then disappeared out the door.

Aziraphale crawled back over to Crowley, twined his fingers in Crowley’s cold hand, and looked into his face.  His eyes were closed and his face slack; he looked peaceful.

“You loved this world,” he said.  “I’ll do it for you.  I’ll take care of your car.  I’ll make sure someone who will really appreciate it gets it.  I’ll make sure your plants get watered every day.  And I’ll drink enough wine for the both of us from now on.  You did everything just right.  You can take it easy now.  Just rest.”

He leaned down and planted one kiss on his forehead, then drew the sheet up to cover him, and shut the bedroom door behind him when he left.

* * *

The piteously sparse remains of his demons gathered around Aziraphale as he landed on the roof.

“Is this really everyone that’s left?” said Aziraphale, fresh sorrow welling up inside him.

Adramelech nodded.

Maltha and Beth were sitting together on a metal pipe and rose when they saw him.

“Aziraphale,” said Maltha. “Are you ready to defend Earth one last time?”

Her tone indicated that she was not optimistic about the outcome.  But the odds had never stopped Aziraphale before.  He nodded.  “Where do we go?”

The demons gathered there all withdrew a piece of parchment.

“Kabata has sent out a summons,” said Adramelech.  “A call to arms.  He says he is igniting Armageddon, and Hell should unify behind him to destroy Heaven. He gives directions.”

“He sent these out to everyone?” said Aziraphale.

“Yes.  He must have won over someone in Hell’s bureaucracy who has the authority to send out mass messages,” said Maltha.  “Even I received one.  It is a challenge if I ever heard one.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “Let’s go, then.”

They lifted off like a flock of birds.  Aziraphale stayed behind to glance at his shop one last time, the ruined building burnt and broken and containing so many destroyed things.

He snapped his fingers, and flames began to eat at the first floor.  The whole building was blazing by the time it disappeared over the horizon, fire trucks and police presence finally allowed to arrive and deal with things in the human way, but Aziraphale had made sure the entire place would be ashes by the time they got there.

* * *

The summons was to Armageddon itself.  Not surprising.

No thermonuclear exchange to start things off this time.  They were completely off script, plotting an uncharted destiny.  There was just the crowd gathered behind Noah, and the one that was gathering in front of him.

Michael was there, which perhaps should not have been surprising, because Michael always wanted to be wherever a fight was sure to break out.  He smiled and waved at Aziraphale weakly, and Aziraphale ignored him, which everyone thought was justified.

Kabata was there with his hands in his pockets, looking pleased with himself.  Behind him was a horde of demons, immensely larger than what Agares had brought to the shop, an army that included rows of archdemons and dukes and assorted nobility and uncountable imps that had all heeded the summons and finally chosen a successor to be loyal to.  There were scores of hellhounds as well, including a particularly big and nasty one by Noah’s side.

The horsepersons were there too, already beyond human form.  War, with her hair dripping in red rivulets like blood down her body, teeth like bullets, fingers like knives, eyes red with bloodlust.  Famine, skeletal, concave and hollow, heralding locusts and vultures.  Pollution, oozing poison, his crown jutting into the air from his molten flesh like sharpened stalagmites.

And Death was there, standing behind Noah with his starry wings spread wide high into the sky, ribbons of void and celestial darkness pulsing up into the inferno gathering in the roiling clouds above them.

Aziraphale would have quite a lot to say to that particular horseperson if he got the chance to.  For now he stood side by side with his legion, Maltha holding Beth’s hand on his right, Adramelech bravely facing their enemies on his left, Adam and Dog behind him, and a smattering of other Earth-loving demons supporting him:  The only defense Earth’s side could muster up before Heaven came down to clash with Hell for the final battle.

They stood like this tensely for a few moments as the newcomers settled in, folding their wings.

Kabata himself was the first one to speak.  “Where’s your pet, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale felt Adramelech squeeze his arm.  “Don’t listen to him, lord.  Don’t think about it.”

Aziraphale was surprised by the amount of comfort it provided and remained stoically silent.

Kabata frowned, as if disappointed by the lack of response.  He continued, “I’m glad to see that Michael and Maltha are here.  Once they’re out of the way, there won’t really be anybody in a position to challenge me.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Aziraphale.  “I’m surprised, really.  All these demons are ready to follow someone who so recently was fighting against them? You’ll be dead within a week.”

Kabata’s lip peeled into a snarl.  “Noah, do it now!”

“Noah, wait!” shouted Aziraphale.

Noah was at the epicenter of all this attention, looking distressed.  “I don’t want to talk to you!” Noah yelled, clamping his hands over his ears.  “Go away! All of you just go away!  I don’t want to talk to any of you!”

Lightning clapped in the sky.  The ground rumbled ominously.

A frantic barking sounded across the battlefield.  Dog raced out into no-man’s land, and Adam gave a startled yell and chased after him.

The hellhound by Noah’s side let out a booming growl and hunkered down into an attack position, slithering forwards to meet Dog.

“Get back,” Noah snapped at it, and the hellhound looked chastised and slunk to the side.  Aziraphale was somewhat lifted by the fact that Noah didn’t seem to have named it.

Dog reached Noah, putting his front paws on his thighs and jumping on him excitedly.

“Get away from him!” Kabata shouted, furious, as Adam approached.

“Leave him alone!” Noah said.  “Adam can do whatever he wants!  He’s the only one I want to talk to.”

“Noah, get him away—” Kabata began, stepping forwards.

“ _Stay back_ ,” Noah screamed in _that_ voice, the voice of his father, the one that demanded obedience down to one’s very core.  Kabata stopped dead, startled.

The Earth trembled under their feet, groaning, as though it were about to fall apart at any moment.  Cracks began to slowly crawl across the sky.

Adam reached Noah and knelt down, putting one hand on the boy’s shoulder and the other on Dog’s flank. “Hi, Noah.  Are you all right?”

Noah shook his head.

“Do you need some help again?”

Nod.

Adam took Noah’s hand. Kabata watched this with barely suppressed rage, but did not make another move forwards.  And Death watched, waiting silently, patiently, because he had forever.

“Did they tell you what’s going on?  What’s happening to the Earth?”

“He promised we’re going to make the world better,” said Noah.  “It’s rotten and it needs to be better.”

“You’re right, Noah, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

“It’s not?”

“No.  Didn’t they tell you exactly what was going to happen? You’re destroying the world, Noah. It can’t get any better if it isn’t there.”

“Wipe it and start over again.”

“I promise you that won’t work.  People are _people_.  As long as they’re around, starting over won’t change anything. They won’t change.”

“Then there won’t _be_ any people!” said Noah, tears in his eyes. “It’ll just be me….”

A fissure tore open above them, jagged edges crumbling from the distorted red sky.  The sun melted like wax down the horizon.

“Listen,” said Adam gently. “The world is full of such amazing things, and you haven’t even gotten to see a fraction of them yet.  You see Dog here?”

Dog wagged his tail and licked Noah’s hand.

“Think of all the great dogs there are like this in the world.  You could go pet as many of them as you like.”

“What are you telling him?” shouted Kabata, who couldn’t hear a thing over the howling wind, and who was getting nervous.  “Knock it off.”

“Did you know that America has 39 flavors of ice cream?” said Adam, his eyes sparkling with delight.

Noah’s eyes widened. “What?  39?  There aren’t that many flavors.”

“There are in America. Come on.  I’ll take you there, and we can try as many as you like.  I promise it’s worth it to not end the world, Noah.  People aren’t perfect, but you need to give them a chance.  Do you remember what I told you about what you should do if you have power?”

“You should use it to be kind.”

“Exactly.  And you see how well it worked out last time, right? Abraxas became your friend and defended you.”

“I don’t want to destroy the Earth.  I want to make it better.  How do I do that?”

“Be the change you want to see,” said Adam.  “And I don’t mean using your powers to make everything perfect the way you think it should be perfect.  Trust me when I say what you think is perfect, it _isn’t_.  You need to let it go.  Let people sort themselves out.  Be a kind person, and you can change the world without any miracles.”

“O…okay,” said Noah.

“You see all those people back there?”  Noah glanced over his shoulder at all the demons behind him.  “I’ll tell you a little secret about them they don’t want you to know.”

“What’s that?”

“You already have power. They didn’t give you anything.  They have to do whatever you tell them to.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Look up at the sky.”

He did so, as though noticing its disarray for the first time.

“You did that without even realizing it.  That’s how much power you have.  You can make your own decisions.  You’re not on their side.  You’re on your own side.  You decide what you want to do.”

Noah seemed to think very hard.  Then: “I want to rule Hell.”

Adam gasped and sputtered, ready for any answer but that.  “Why do you say that, Noah?”

“Well, I think you can handle Earth, Adam.  You seem to have a good idea of what you’re doing.  I wouldn’t be any good at it.  But all those people behind me came from Hell and they’re not doing good things up here.  They need to go back down.  But I don’t want to just leave them alone down there.  Hell is awful.  I could fix it up a bit.  Make it nicer.  Everyone hated Satan because he was awful, but I could show them his sons are better.  You know? I think I want to do that instead of destroying the Earth.”

“Okay,” said Adam. “Why don’t you do that, then?”  He took Noah’s hands one more time and gave them a supportive squeeze.

Aziraphale could hear none of this conversation no matter how much he strained.  He didn’t like the fact that he was once again relegated to standing by being useless as Adam saved the world.  He was in the dark until Noah stood up, walked around Death, who fixed him with a curious stare, and faced the hoard of demons.

“We’re all going back down now,” said Noah, now speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear.  “We’re not going to destroy Earth.”

“What?” said Kabata. “But Noah, you were in Hell before and you left because you hated it.  And you agreed that Earth needed improvements.”

“Don’t back down,” said Adam.  “You’re _his_ master, not the other way around.”

“Hell needs improvements more,” said Noah.  “It’s awful down there.  But I can fix it up.”

“You can’t _fix up_ hell!” said Kabata.  “Just start the war!  Bring the skies down!  Shatter the ground!  Oceans of blood and whatnot!  Do the thing!”

“You have to do what I say,” said Noah, and Kabata fell silent, radiating hatred.  “And I say we’re going back down to Hell.  And you lot are going to start behaving yourselves. No more torture for one thing. Why are you always torturing people?”

The demons looked awkwardly at one another.  Satan had always been the one to encourage torture, and none of them found it distasteful enough to protest.  It was the kind of thing one ceased to question.

“So we’ll have no more of that.  That’s just a start.  I’m sure I’ll think of some other things.  I’ll need help…”

He looked back over at Adam, but seemed to realize that Adam belonged on Earth, and then looked back at Aziraphale’s group.  His eyes fixed on Maltha.

“What, me?” said Maltha, pointing to herself.

“Please do it,” said Aziraphale.  “Noah isn’t old enough for the throne yet, and he needs someone powerful enough to keep the other demons in line and wise enough to make good decisions.  The other archdemons will respect you or at least be scared enough of you. You’re the perfect choice for regent ruler.”

“But Aziraphale, I love _Earth_ ,” said Maltha, dismayed.  “That’s why I _left_ Hell.  I never wanted to rule.”

“Maltha,” said Beth. “Don’t be selfish.  You told him he could look to you for help.  Remember?”

Maltha looked from Beth to Aziraphale back to Noah, conflict apparent on her face.

“Take Beth with you,” said Aziraphale, desperate to reach the presented solution to the situation. “I’m sure she’d love being a princess of Hell.  You can make Hell more like Earth.  It’d only be until Noah is an adult.  Please, Maltha, he needs help.  Get us out of this mess.”

“Will you go with me, Beth? Into Hell?”

She took her hand. “Don’t you remember that night we spent together looking up at the stars?  I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“Okay,” said Maltha unsurely, and walked over to Noah.  Noah reached up and took Maltha’s other hand.

“You’re choosing Maltha as Satan’s successor?” snarled Kabata.

“’Suppose so,” said Noah. “That seems best.”

“ _Her?_ Now hold on just a minute.”

“That’s enough,” Maltha said.  “Your master’s son has made a decision.”

None of the demons looked particularly pleased about it, especially Kabata, but no one dared say anything, realizing Noah had the power to enforce it.

Adam touched Noah’s shoulder one last time, and bent down to whisper into his ear.  “How about you put Earth back before you go, hm?  The way it was before.  I’m sure you’ve messed some things on Earth up to start Armageddon. That’s okay.  They can be fixed.  Just use your powers one time to put everything right.  That’s what I did, and it worked out all right.”

Noah nodded solemnly. “Nobody move.  I’m going to put everyone like they’re supposed to be…”

* * *

Aziraphale was asleep.

He didn’t know how he had gotten that way.  His foremost thought was confusion as he drifted back to wakefulness.

Then he remembered what had happened, and a new thought was forming in his mind.  Because the antichrist had access to a universal reset button.  Adam had used it to give him back his bookshop.  Noah could have used it to give him back something more.

He was afraid to open his eyes, because he did not know what he would do if his hope was not true.

He opened them.

The soft light from the sunrise coming through the bedroom window bathed the figure sleeping next to him, who was turned on his side with his head against Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale reached out with one trembling hand and touched him.  His skin was warm.

Aziraphale was in tears instantly.

Crowley slit one eye open, peering at him muzzily.  “Angel?”

Aziraphale held him tightly, squeezing him, vowing to never let him go again, which was unrealistic at best.

“I feel like something happened that I’m forgetting,” said Crowley.  “I suppose I must have missed something.”

“I daresay you have,” said Aziraphale, stroking his hair.  “I’ll tell you about it later.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you, angel,” said Crowley, his voice muffled from against Aziraphale’s chest.

“I love you, my dear,” said Aziraphale.

He bent down and planted a kiss on top of his head.  Crowley’s eyes drooped closed.  “You’re not going to scold me for sleeping so late?”

“We can stay in bed as long as you like.  Let’s stay in bed forever.  I never want to wake up.”

“I like it when you talk dirty, angel,” said Crowley, snuggling up against him.

The birds began to chirp outside the window, a chorus to accompany their doze.  Eventually, they felt the added weight of something with four legs jumping up and picking its way across their sprawled limbs.

“Hey, girl,” said Aziraphale as Mittens clambered over his leg to perch on his thigh, tail swishing. She rubbed up against him, purring and drooling.

“Mittens,” called a voice in a harsh whisper.  “Mittens, don’t wake them up.  Come back here, young lady.”

Aziraphale levered himself upright to see Abraxas crouching in the bedroom doorway, hand extended to try and convince Mittens to come back to her.  The demon shot upright and saluted.  “Ah—Sorry, sir!  She ran in before I could grab her collar.”

“That’s all right,” said Aziraphale.

Abraxas slouched at his casual tone.  “Lord, the others and I are a bit…erm…confused…And we were wondering if you had any information you might share with us to help clear things up?”

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale, hauling himself out of bed and walking over to Abraxas.  “Let me look at you.  Oh, dear girl, I’m so happy to see you in one piece…”

Abraxas awkwardly accepted a hug from him.  Botis appeared in the doorway as this happened.  The newcomer threw a salute, but before he could launch into whatever his spiel was, Aziraphale said, “Oh, and Botis, here’s Botis too.  Come here, let me look at you.”

Aziraphale had to stand on tiptoe to hug Botis, but he managed.  “L-lord, you’re still in your nightgown,” said Botis, reddening.  “It isn’t proper.”

“Oh, forget proper,” said Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale was never proper,” said Crowley’s muffled voice under the duvet.  “He just likes to make people think he is.”

Aziraphale turned back and leapt onto the lump that indicated Crowley’s presence, thrusting his hands under it and tickling him furiously.  The lump moved like a giggling amoeba to get away.

“You see!” said Crowley.

“Sir!” said Botis, who had averted his eyes and looked like he was about to explode from embarrassment. “I just came up to tell you there is a correspondence from Heaven for you on the counter.  I would have brought it up, but I can’t touch it.”

“That’s all right. Thank you Botis.  Abraxas, you can go downstairs with him.  I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The two demons moved off. Aziraphale turned back to the bed, where Crowley had dug himself further into the covers and looked like he wouldn’t be coming out without a fight.  Aziraphale would have let him lie there, except he needed to feel that touch on Crowley’s warm skin again, so he hauled him bodily out of bed and carried him until Crowley fought with mock indignation to be put down.

The wall to the flat next door was still knocked out.  Adramelech was busily decorating something inside, humming.  He paused to wave to Aziraphale enthusiastically. “Master!  You’re awake!”

“Hello!” said Aziraphale. “Nice to see you again.”

Aziraphale did not let go of Crowley’s hand as he came downstairs.  They found the letter on the counter.  He opened it to find that it was from Victoria.

_To the principality Aziraphale,_

_I don’t know what happened.  I don’t want to know what happened.  But I’m positive it’s because you didn’t listen to orders again somehow. For God’s sake, please just do as you’re told, all right?_

_-The Power Victoria_

Aziraphale crumpled the letter against his chest and squeezed Crowley with his other arm. “And there’s Victoria, she’s all right too.”

Oryss was in the kitchen making French toast.  “Oh, lord—” she began, but Aziraphale engulfed her in a hug before she could get any further.

“Thank you, lord,” she said, unsure of what to make of it as he released her.

“Thank you for this most excellent breakfast,” said Aziraphale.  “Thank you for this most excellent morning.”

* * *

Crowley couldn’t understand why Aziraphale kept touching him, seeming to savor how warm he was, but Crowley let him because it seemed like something very distressing had happened in his absence.

The tension that had been building was gone.  The warrior angels were nowhere to be seen, and another letter to Victoria confirmed that that group was all safely back in Heaven.  A second piece of parchment from Heaven materialized onto Victoria’s correspondence while they were reading it, a small scroll which said in an unsteady, sloppy scrawl:

_Aziraphale:_

_Sorry_

_-Michael_

Adam sent them a text a few minutes later reporting he had woken up in his bedroom at home with Dog unsure of how he had gotten there, and that he didn’t like being on the other side of such an event this time around.

A letter from Maltha arrived after that, confirming that as per Noah’s request, the troublemakers who had declared allegiance to Kabata were confined back in Hell, and all the archdemons were accounted for.  She had not executed Kabata* because she and Noah wanted to set an example, but she assured him they would make sure he didn’t cause any more trouble.

*Aziraphale lied to himself and said it was better she had been merciful, but deep down he wouldn’t have minded if she had.

_I wish you well on Earth,_ the letter read.   _I will hold everything together down here.  I hope to be back up soon.  We should have time for vacations.  Take care. I love you both._

Maltha’s letter was accompanied by a letter from Beth, the most notable feature of which was that Beth was upset Maltha wouldn’t give her a hellhound puppy.

“What is _with_ her?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale set the letter aside and drew Crowley close to him yet again.  “She’s a strange one,” was all Aziraphale commented on the matter.

They looked up to see Botis entering the study.  “Sir!” he said, saluting with his usual vigor.  “There is someone at the door!”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a kiss on the forehead.  “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re just going downstairs, angel.”

To answer, Aziraphale kissed him again.

He descended the stairs amid boisterous sounds in the back room. He peeked his head in and saw that a huge group had gathered on and around the oft-abused couch and piled in front of the telly.  They were watching the James Bond DVDs Aziraphale had bought a while back for Crowley, which he had forgotten he owned. They seemed to be enjoying them immensely.

He turned to the front of the shop to see someone standing outside the glass door, hands folded under arms to try and protect them against the cold.  It was someone Aziraphale had never seen before, a woman-shaped being with her hair done up in cornrows, but he could tell by her aura that she was an angel.

A principality, in fact.

The bell jingled as he opened the door.  “Hello, hello.  Come in, don’t freeze to death outside.”

She gave him a polite smile. “I’ll stay outside for now, thanks.”

“Er…all right.  I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Aziraphale, extending his hand.

“I don’t believe we have either,” she said, shaking it.  “My name is Olivia.”

She had the same accent as Oryss.  That gave Aziraphale enough of a clue to guess who she was.

“Aziraphale,” he told her.

“Nice to meet you.  I’m…ah…looking for a demon named Oryss,” said Olivia, confirming his suspicions.  “And I have reason to believe she might be here somewhere…”

It was at this point that he noticed the small, heart-shaped box under her arm.  Excitement-by-proxy filled Aziraphale.

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “Wait right here.  I’ll go get her.”

He made his way upstairs and eventually found Oryss in the kitchen.  She was seated at the table with a plate of _something_ in front of her, which she did not look happy about being expected to consume.  A second demon had apparently coerced her into critiquing their cooking, claiming they had gotten the recipe from Beth.

She looked relieved when Aziraphale appeared in the doorway, and she abandoned the food immediately. “Lord, what can I do for you?”

“Oryss,” he said, “I think we can quit that by now, don’t you?  Just ‘Aziraphale’ is fine.”

Oryss’s face cracked into a grin.  After a moment’s hesitation, she dashed forwards and wrapped her arms around him.

He returned the hug. “Oryss, there’s someone here for you,” he said, feigning ignorance.  “A principality named Olivia.  She seemed…hmm…a little excited to see you.”

Aziraphale had never seen her move so fast.  He followed her down more slowly, then sat on the stairs where he could see out the shop front. Oryss had run out without even putting a jacket on.  She and Olivia exchanged unheard words, their breath making frosty clouds as they spoke.  He couldn’t hear them over the sound of the film on the telly in the adjacent room, which he could deduce Crowley was now watching by the voice of the demon filling them all in on James Bond trivia over the dialogue.

Olivia presented her with the box.  Oryss stared at it for a few seconds, eyes widening, and then leapt into Olivia’s arms without even taking it. The angel twirled her, which was impressive considering Oryss was both taller and wider than her.  She then put her down, obviously trying to look very serious and professional, but failing.            

Crowley had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister.  “That must be Olivia, innit?  I heard Oryss talking about her.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.

The two outside had pushed their foreheads together and were giggling alternating with talking.

“Oryss just ran off without telling her angel where she was going,” said Crowley.  “I’m glad she took note and came looking for her.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine how stressful it would be if Crowley did the same thing.  “I can’t believe she did that.”

“I think they all did, to be honest.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

Aziraphale looked to the back room, deep in thought.

The bell jangled, and Olivia and Oryss came in holding hands.

“Hello there,” said Crowley. “Nice to meet you.”

“It looks like we’re having a movie night,” said Aziraphale.  “Would you like to join us?”

Olivia seemed unenthused, but upon seeing the pleading look on Oryss’s face, conceded.  The four of them wedged themselves into the crowd that had gathered in front of the telly, which was suspiciously much larger and nicer than it had been before.  They marathoned  _Dr. No_ all the way through  _Quantum of Solace_ , at which point most them fell asleep.

* * *

“You’re sending us away?”

It was Adramelech, foremost in the group of demons that had gathered in the dining room, who had spoken with such dismay.  All his demons were present and accounted for, for his last group command to them.

“No, not exactly,” said Aziraphale.  “Well, I suppose if you wanted to call it that, perhaps…”

“Have we done something wrong?” said another demon.

“No!” said Aziraphale. “No, of course not.”  He wrung his hands.  “It’s just, well, the danger has passed now.  With Maltha on Hell’s throne helping Noah keep the archdemons in line, the Earth should be safe for quite a long time.  Crowley and I don’t need such a large company of bodyguards, and there’s really not enough room in the shop for everyone.  And the flat next door isn’t technically mine so I have to give it back… ”

The demons all still looked down, sullen, perhaps upset that the first master they had actually liked didn’t want them hanging around.  “Look,” said Aziraphale.  “You all have angelic counterparts, don’t you?  Why don’t you go back to them?  They must be missing you by now.”

They all looked vaguely guilty.  Aziraphale looked to Oryss and Olivia, in the back of the gathering.  “And you know, Hell is going to be much different now,” he continued.  “I don’t think the war is going to be a priority, and you won’t be punished for, er…”

“Fraternizing,” Crowley filled in.

“R-right,” said Aziraphale.

“But…” said Adramelech.

“Come on,” said Aziraphale. “You all have better places to be than fetching me tea and keeping watch.  And…”  He took out his huge flip phone.  “I’ll give you all my mobile number, and you’re welcome to call or come around any time you like.  Okay?”

They all seemed mollified a bit by that and began to disperse, gathering their belongings.

Oryss was the first to leave.  She stood on tiptoe to give Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek, and hugged him with fervor.

“Thanks for watching her for me,” said Olivia, shaking his hand.

“Take care, now,” said Crowley.

The rest left over the course of the day.  They found out that the very last holdout had been doing so because he had never figured out how to use a phone, didn’t have one, and was too embarrassed to admit it.

“Here,” said Aziraphale, giving him his number on a piece of paper.  “Take this.  You’ll want to be getting a mobile soon, trust me.  And you can call me then.”

“Thank you,” said the demon.

The bell rang as he exited. And for the first time in forever, the shop was quiet, empty, and peaceful.

Aziraphale swept Crowley up, nuzzling him.  “ _You._ ”

“Me,” he said, smiling.

Aziraphale mounted the stairs.  “Come on. We haven’t had any privacy since our injuries healed, and I know _exactly_ what I want to do to you.”

“Oh-ho-hoh,” said Crowley. “Yes, sir!”

They would have to fix the wall to the flat later that day.  But they didn’t get to it for a while.

* * *

Somewhere in Massachusetts, there was a group of people and person-shaped beings eating ice cream at a pink table.  Two were adult women, one was an adult man, and one was a child.  Everyone except the adult man were nicely tanned, as though they had been spending quite a lot of time around sun* recently.

*or flames, as the case were.

“Nice day for a visit,” said Maltha, who was wearing the biggest pair of novelty sunglasses she had been able to get her hands on.  She had put them on as soon as Beth had explained to her you were supposed to wear sunglasses on vacation.

Beth had smeared ice cream on her cheek and had been hoping Maltha would lick it off, but gave up when she didn’t notice and took a napkin to wipe it herself.  “Yeah.”

“I told you, Noah. Didn’t I?” said Adam.

Noah nodded, licking his ice cream cone, which had three different flavors.  He still had 36 flavors left, but he had all the time in the world left to try them.  He was going to try them all, and many, many other things too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! \\(^u^)/ The next installment should be coming in a few weeks


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